St George's Day
by Onesimus42
Summary: Elsie Hughes's arrival at Downton in 1902. The sequel to May Day. This will likely not make a lot of sense unless you've read that first.
1. A new path

_**This story is a continuation of "May Day". I'm not trying to blackmail you into reading other fics, but I doubt you'll understand this unless you read that first. I think you'll especially need to read the last chapter, because this one parallels and directly follows that one.**_

**Train to Downton Abbey 1902**

Elsie could still hear the soft echo of his words in her ear, "I want you to think of me and know that I will be thinking of you as well." She answered, "Charles, my love, I will be thinking of you often," and snuggled closer against his chest. It was the oddest thing that his chest, instead of being warm and soft, was cold and hard. Then a sharp jolt awakened her from sleep, and she nearly fell off her seat. Regaining her balance, she looked around quickly to see that none of the other passengers was paying any attention to her. She checked her handbag instinctively and was reassured to find it still securely between her and the window. Grimacing at the sharp pain that shot through her neck, she thought that falling asleep on the train with her head against the window was not the best idea she'd ever had. Neither was dreaming of him, but she supposed she had no choice in that matter.

It would take no genius to guess why she'd dreamed of him. She was going to his home. That is, it had been his home. She still felt a little uneasy about that, but she had been very careful to check. A Mrs. Dunsmore was the housekeeper she corresponded with, not Mrs. Carson, and she had inquired of a ladies' maid that she knew regarding the Earl's valet. His name was Mr. Hathaway, not Carson. He must have moved on. For all she knew he had stayed in America to find his fortune there. A wave of sadness threatened and was quickly suppressed at the thought that he might very well have found a bride there as well. She found herself wondering whether he had children and what they might look like before she once again quashed those thoughts. It would do no good to dwell on such things. The past was the past and couldn't be changed. It did hurt, however, that she had so completely misjudged him. She had always considered herself to be a fine judge of character, but obviously she must have confused good looks with decent behavior.

This position had been too good to let pass; head housemaid in the home of an Earl. And when she had answered the advertisement, she had discovered that the housekeeper was an older lady wishing to train her own replacement. It would certainly be a step up for her and the opportunity to rise to as near the top of her profession as was likely possible. Of course, the farmer that she'd been walking out with had offered her his home to keep. Joe was a nice enough man; life with him would have been very steady. She had no doubt that he would provide well for her, and she would have enjoyed raising little Peter. His offer had been very tempting, but in the end, his eyes had not been quite brown enough, or his shoulders quite broad enough, or his voice quite deep enough. He just felt wrong somehow, and for that she blamed Charles Carson.

Once again she reminded herself not to think of him. Most of the time she had no difficulty keeping him from her thoughts, even if it was impossible to banish him from her dreams. It was silly to keep thinking of him. They had only known each other for four days, not nearly enough to really know each other obviously, and he had not been what he had promised. There had been hurt at first and then anger first at him and then at herself for being silly enough to believe such a rogue. She couldn't say that she truly regretted their time together, however, because he had shown her pleasures that she'd never known possible and that had been impossible to find since. A brief surge of panic ran through her at the thought that he might still live in the village of Downton even if he were not still at the house. What would she do if she met him again? Perhaps walking with his wife or with a curly headed boy on his shoulders. She pressed her hand to her chest and closed her eyes against the thought. No; America, it would be best to think he was still in America. If he still lived somewhere near Downton, she would deal with that meeting when, and if, it happened.

She was surprised to be met at the station by a car. Very thoughtful indeed. Not that she couldn't have walked, but it was certainly easier to bring her trunk rather than having to make arrangements for a later delivery. The chauffer informed her that the butler had told him to meet her train, and the man certainly rose in her estimation, someone who cared for the comfort and convenience of those under him must be a fine man indeed. They rode to the house silently after that. When they arrived, Mr. Taylor sent her ahead and promised to deal with her trunk. If everyone was this helpful, she thought she'd get along fine. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door and was greeted by a young maid who ushered her into the housekeeper's parlor before she even had a chance to remove her coat and hat.

She stood before the housekeeper's desk enduring her sharp gaze and answered her questions thoroughly and respectively. Her voice didn't even falter as she explained the hiatus in her working history following Holbrook House as needing to take care of family matters. She held herself proudly, but not arrogantly and could tell that the housekeeper was pleased. When they'd finished the necessary quizzing and preliminary explanation of her duties, the crinkled face broke into a smile and she was offered a place to hang her coat and hat.

"Come along," the housekeeper said once Elsie had smoothed her hair down, "You'll need to meet the others, and then we'll let Maggie show you your room. I'll show you the house after luncheon, and you can begin to learn your way around."

She was first taken to the kitchen to meet the cook and staff there. Mrs. Patmore seemed pleasant enough and only a few years older than herself at the most. To the housekeeper's irritation, she offered to take charge of the storeroom key since Mrs. Dunmore would no doubt be busy with the new girl for the next day or two. Mrs. Dunmore declined the offer sweetly and turned sharply on her heel to stalk down the corridor. Elsie quickened her pace and bit back a smile at the obviously long-standing feud between the two.

Mrs. Dunmore stopped before a door and spoke quietly, "You'll need to meet our butler next. He is the senior member of staff, but you should remember that you are under my jurisdiction. Don't worry, he's a bit gruff, but doesn't bite. At least not my maids, he leaves you girls to me."

She knocked briskly on the door and was greeted after a moment by a deep voice inviting them to enter. Elsie's breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened. That voice sounded too familiar. Mrs. Dunmore opened the door, and she caught a glimpse of broad shoulders which gave her the briefest moment to steel herself before she met a pair of surprised brown eyes.

"Elsie!" he sounded just as shocked as she felt, and her eyes closed briefly at the pleasure of hearing that voice say her name again.

Mrs. Dunmore was nothing if not an astute woman, and she obviously sensed the tension between them. He thankfully recovered his equilibrium first because she couldn't have spoken if her life depended on it.

He answered Mrs. Dunmore's question and then turned it on her as if in challenge. That angered her a little. What right did he have to be angry? She'd done nothing to him, nothing but wait for a letter that never came. Perhaps he thought she'd come here seeking him. She tried to let him know subtly that she had not expected a Mr. Carson to be at Downton. If she had, she would never have come. As it was, she was already plotting her escape.

His next words cut her to the bone. "Time brings many changes," he said looking at her steadily. Indeed it did when one was as changeable as he. Then she looked at him, studying his face. His eyes had a sadness about them that hadn't been there before, and the lines around his mouth looked as though he spent a great deal more time frowning than smiling. His shoulders and back which had once been straight and held at almost a cocky angle sagged a little. He had changed considerably from the man she'd known. What could have happened to have altered him so much?

She agreed with him and wondered if perhaps she'd been wrong about him all this time. Before she could wonder any further, she was ushered from the room by Mrs. Dunmore. When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw the door shut quietly behind them.

Steeling herself for any questions the housekeeper had for her, she wondered if this was perhaps a path she should have left unexplored.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	2. A rocky road

_**Continuing with the angst. If you need a reprieve, check out the pleasant, parallel universe version of this story—Birthday Present.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine at all. Belong to people who don't know a good thing when they have it.**_

It had been a long and tiring week, and Elsie was still getting her bearings. She was still not completely sure if she would stay, but at any rate she would have to either work out at least a month or risk getting a dodgy reference. That was not a chance she could take. She supposed she could always take Joe up on his offer, but she didn't think it would be fair to any man to marry him solely from desperation. On the previous nights she had fallen into bed exhausted and found sleep almost immediately, but tonight every time she closed her eyes, she found herself thinking of him. Thankfully, he seemed as determined to avoid her as she was to avoid him. The only time they truly came in contact was at meals, and he was so far away at the head of the table that she couldn't hear any conversation he had with Mrs. Dunmore. He was always there, however, just at the periphery of her vision and occasionally at the periphery of her hearing. Sometimes she could make out his deep rumbling sounds, always harsh and demanding, never the teasingly seductive Charles of her dreams. Even his voice had altered so much as to be nearly unrecognizable.

Finally, she rose quietly and pulled on her dressing gown. She paused for a moment to watch Maggie who sighed and turned over in her bed. Elsie put on her slippers and crept quietly out the door. Making her way down to the kitchen, she told herself that a few sips of tea would do the trick. Perhaps on her first half day she could go to the village and find a book to read to lull her to sleep. Walking as softly as she could down the steps she winced when the next to last one creaked. She paused for a moment but heard no movement. Looking down the corridor, she saw that there was a light spilling out under the door of his pantry, but she heard no movement from within. Her heart raced for a moment but then she squared her shoulders. This was her home; after all, she had every right to come to the servants' hall in search of tea no matter the time. She strode purposefully into the corridor although she did step lighter as she passed his door.

Once she had the kettle on to boil and teapot filled with leaves waiting for the boiling water, she leaned against the counter and closed her eyes. Yes; the week had been trying, but even with Charles there, she enjoyed Downton. Everyone here seemed to take pride in their work, and she had had no worries about the men being overly friendly. Charles and Mrs. Dunmore seemed to run a tight ship, just the way she liked it. Still, she couldn't reconcile this Charles with either the man she had loved for a short time or the man she had hated for so long. Regardless, as Mrs. Dunmore had pointed out, she would likely have very little contact with him, so perhaps she could safely stay here. She rubbed the back of her neck to work out the cramp that had developed and turned back toward the kettle as she heard it begin to boil. While she waited for the tea to steep, she placed a single cube of sugar in her cup. Then she heard a throat clearing behind her. Managing to jump only a little, she turned around to face Charles. Closing her eyes for a moment, she reminded herself that he was now Mr. Carson and would never be Charles to her again.

"Miss Hughes," he said with a deep frown, "may I ask what you are doing up at this hour?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to give him permission saucily, but she thought better of it, "You may, Mr. Carson. I had difficulty sleeping and decided to make myself a cup of tea to settle down. It's always difficult to sleep in a strange house at first." At another time, she would have gladly offered to share her tea with him, but now she just wanted him to leave her to her thoughts.

The merest hint of a smile brushed his lips, "I certainly know that feeling," then after a moment's pause with him looking at his shoes as though trying to determine whether to continue, "I hope you find Downton to your liking, Miss Hughes."

That comment took her by surprise. Why would he care whether she liked Downton or not? "It's a little early to tell, Mr. Carson, but it does seem to be a well run household."

His back straightened, and his eye crinkled at the compliment which he quickly deflected, "Mrs. Dunmore is the best of housekeepers."

"She does seem to be," Elsie agreed, wondering when he would leave so that she could enjoy her tea.

"Well," he said, half turning to the door, "I'll leave you to your tea, then. Please put everything back as you found it or Mrs. Patmore will be in a tizzy."

She bristled at the suggestion that she would do anything less, "I would never dream of leaving a mess."

"I am sure that you would not, Miss Hughes," he gave her a slight bow, "Forgive me for suggesting otherwise." Then he turned once more toward the doorway and even took a step toward it before pausing as though he had forgotten something. Turning back to her, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, puffing out his chest, "It has occurred to me that you might find it," he paused as though searching for the right word, "uncomfortable, to be working here, with me."

She started to cut him off, but he raised his hand to still her words, "I wanted you to know that I have no intention of dredging up the past. I cannot see any good that would do. As a matter of fact, you may consider that this is the last time we will ever discuss the matter."

"Char…" she began but he cut her off sharply and almost angrily, "No! Not that!" he took another deep breath and then spoke in a more conversational, but still stern, tone, "My name is Mr. Carson, Miss Hughes. I must ask that you respect that."

She nodded in acknowledgement, "Very well, Mr. Carson," she said, "I just wanted to make you aware that I had no idea you would be here. I inquired regarding the Earl's valet and was informed that his name was Hathaway. I would not have come here if I had known…That is, I have no wish to cause you any distress."

His smile was almost cruelly mocking when he answered, "It is of no consequence to me whether you are here or elsewhere. Please don't trouble yourself on my account."

His tone more than his words cut her, so she merely nodded and turned back to her tea with tears stinging her eyes. After another moment, she sensed more than heard him leave. She was more determined than ever to stay here now. She'd not let that man make her so uncomfortable that she felt she had to leave. He would not ruin her life a second time.

This might not be the most pleasant path to travel, but she was determined to see it to its end.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	3. May Day revisited

_**Disclaimer: They still don't belong to me and never will.**_

It had been a long nine months, but Elsie felt that she had settled in well at Downton. It was not so difficult; really, she just worked hard and kept herself to herself. Mrs. Dunsmore made sure that everything ran smoothly. The only member of the staff that she truly disliked was the Countess's maid, and that was not terribly surprising. Most ladies' maids in her experience thought themselves above the other staff, and Miss O'Brien was certainly no exception. Being in the same house with him had not been completely unbearable, because she wasn't in the same house with Charles; she was in the same house with Mr. Carson. She had learned quickly that they seemed to be two completely different people, and it made it easier for her. It would have been almost impossible to live with a pleasant, smiling Charles who knew her so well as opposed to the distant, stern butler, Mr. Carson.

Actually she had been quite proud of herself up until this week; tomorrow was May Day, and there was to be a celebration in the village. Her memories on this night were always difficult to deal with, but now with the close proximity to him, she felt almost overwhelmed. Forgoing the village celebration would have satisfied her, but she couldn't do that without enduring questioning. Dancing and general silliness was not something she could bear with tonight. At the very least, perhaps she would be able to slip away early and come back to the house. A little time alone with her thoughts tonight would be welcome.

Once they were at the village, she danced politely with a couple of men from the village before she was able to excuse herself. Securing a glass of cider for herself, she made her way to a table away from the music and the dancing. She was quietly enjoying her ale and the music when Mrs. Dunsmore interrupted her thoughts, "Bess, why are you over here by yourself? Surely you should be dancing."

She smiled at the older lady, having come to appreciate and like her over the past nine months, "I'm a little tired tonight, Mrs. Dunsmore," she answered, "I actually believe that I will go back to the house early."

"You're not ill, are you child?" before Elsie could stop her, she had her hand to her forehead, "No fever. You don't have a cough? Congestion?"

She smiled to alleviate the housekeeper's concern, "None of those things, Mrs. Dunmore. I really am just tired, and I have some letters to write."

"Ahhh. Well, then, would you mind sharing your table before you leave?" she asked as she pulled out a chair, "And you'll promise to tell me if you do feel ill?"

"Of course," she agreed and then settled back to watch the dancers and the celebration.

Her eyes drifted around the scene until they landed on a familiar profile. He was standing, sipping from a glass himself, and talking to a group of men. She watched him for just a moment longer than the others before continuing to examine the dancers. Unfortunately, Mrs. Dunsmore must have noticed where her gaze lingered.

"That's odd," she said, "I've never known Mr. Carson to come to this particular party. He usually stays behind."

Elsie chose to comment on this only with a small smile and a nod of her head, taking a sip of her cider to avoid speaking. She couldn't help catching glimpses of him from the corner of her eye. He looked much more relaxed than he ever did at Downton, almost like the Charles that she remembered. Determined to ignore him, she turned her back a little to speak more directly to Mrs. Dunmore.

"How is your sister, Mrs. Dunmore?" she asked, closing her ears to the deep laugh she heard from his direction.

"Not well, I'm afraid, Bess," she answered, soberly, "I believe that you may have to make your decision sooner rather than later."

Elsie nodded then directed the conversation to another path. They talked long enough that she was able to finish her cider, and it seemed late enough for her to safely excuse herself. She started toward the path but was stopped by one of the men she'd danced with earlier. He had obviously had a few more drinks since she had danced with him. She shook her head at him and started to turn away, but he refused to relinquish her arm. He actually started to pull her not toward the dance floor but toward a darkened area behind a building. Her heart started to race a little, and she tried to pull her arm away. Before she had time to consider her next move, the man's hand was removed from her arm. He was pushed firmly away, and she was facing a familiar pair of broad shoulders. The owner of those shoulders turned to address her, and her breath caught in her throat at his proximity.

"I trust you are unharmed, Miss Hughes?" he asked, face still stern but with concerned eyes that made her even more breathless.

She closed her eyes for just a moment and swayed on her feet, "I am, Mr. Carson. Thank you for your assistance."

"I don't know that I believe you," he said, voice slightly worried, "You look pale."

She took a step back, "I'm just a little tired," she lied without hesitation, "Actually, I was just going to go back to the house."

"You shouldn't walk all that way alone," he said, taking a step back himself and straightening, "I'll get someone to accompany you."

"It's not that far," she answered briskly, wishing that he would just let her leave peacefully, "and there's a full moon. I will be fine." Not waiting for his answer, she turned back toward the appropriate path and started to walk. In just another moment, she heard a steady tread behind her. She turned to see him following her with his eyes on the ground. With grim determination, she stopped and turned to face him. He looked up from his examination of the ground to meet her eyes.

"Mr. Carson, I can assure you that I will have no trouble walking back to the house alone," she said sternly, "There is no need for you to walk with me."

He met her eyes steadily and for the briefest second she glimpsed Charles and not Mr. Carson. His next words were more like Charles than Mr. Carson as well, "I have no intention of walking with you. However, I am ready to return as well. We just happen to be walking on the same path at the same time and to the same destination. That does not mean we are walking with each other."

She let out a frustrated sigh and turned back to the path. After just a few more steps, she turned around, "This is silly. If we just happen to be on the same path at the same time and going to the same destination, we should at least walk beside each other."

He nodded with a smile tugging at his lips, "That sounds like a very sensible suggestion, Miss Hughes."

She bit her lower lip to contain her own smile and nodded before starting to walk again. They had walked together in a pleasant silence for a few minutes before he chose to break it, "Mrs. Dunmore has been very complimentary of your work."

"I'm very grateful to her for how much she is teaching me to do," she said, giving him a quick sideways glance.

He cleared his throat, "I believe there's a good chance that she will leave us in a few months."

"That is certainly possible," she nodded casually wondering where this conversation was directed.

He walked for a few more steps before turning to watch her reaction, "She has suggested you to replace her."

"She told me that she would," she confessed, wondering what he thought of the possibility.

He nodded, obviously expecting as much, "Will you accept?"

"I haven't completely made my mind up. I have been offered another housekeeping position," she answered softly, voice trailing off as she thought of Joe's last letter.

He looked taken aback for a moment and then nodded, "I can't say that I'm surprised. I had thought you would have already been a housekeeper by now. Perhaps of Holbr…," he stopped abruptly and cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to refer to that time.

"No; actually I left Holbrook House just a few months after your visit there," she said, looking down at the road before her feet.

"I see," he said softly. She noticed the faintest of wavers in his voice and looked up at him sharply through her lashes. His face had hardened to a steel mask again, and she could no longer discern any trace of Charles except in his eyes.

In that moment, she knew what her answer to Joe would be, and she thought that she was starting down a very dangerous path.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	4. An afternoon off

_**Expect some time jumps over the next few chapters. Some answers will slowly but surely come out.**** Many thanks to Batwings for giving this a first read to keep me on the straight and narrow**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own them. If I did they would be happily married with sons named Henry, Victor, Geoff, Gerry, and Malcolm and two daughters with red hair.**_

**April 1904**

Elsie rolled her neck and tried to reach the tight spot to massage the cramp out. She had thought being a housemaid was hard work, and it was physically demanding. At times, though, she thought that a day as a housemaid again might be preferable to dealing with invoices, household accounts, and working out household matters with Lady Grantham. That didn't even take into account the difficulty of dealing with staff members like Mrs. Patmore and Miss O'Brien, although she'd take Mrs. Patmore over the ladies' maid any day of the week. At least Mrs. Patmore didn't actively cause trouble, unless it had to do with the store cupboard she thought wryly. Still, she had done this job for just over eight months now, and she felt more and more as though she was settling into her position. She had even found establishing a working rapport with Mr. Carson relatively easy. It helped, she supposed, that he was so unfailingly polite and seemed as eager to stay away from personal topics as she was. In a way it was almost pleasant to sit down with him at the end of the day to review any missteps that might have occurred and to plan for the upcoming day. Occasionally they would even discuss some of the foibles of the staff and how best to deal with them. At times, she could almost pretend that they were discussing the running of their own home and children. Usually she tried desperately to keep her mind from straying down that path.

Now, though, there was a problem, and unfortunately it was a large one. It was also a problem that she could not discuss with either Mr. Carson or Mrs. Patmore, because if she was right, they were both complicit in the deceit. She supposed the best thing to do would be to just go and talk to him. Today was his half day. If she was right in her suspicions, then he would leave the house with a package. She wondered where he took it. To a lover perhaps? If that was the case a small part of her didn't want to know, but she felt that she must either confront him or present her evidence to Lady Crawley. Her mind was made up. Rose was set to watch the house for the afternoon so that she could discuss this with him or if she needed to she would just follow him to his destination. Guilt seeped in at the thought of spying on him.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a knock on her door. At her invitation, the object of her concern entered the room. He stood politely just inside the door, "I hope that I haven't interrupted you, Mrs. Hughes."

"Not at all, Mr. Carson," she replied, trying to keep her face completely neutral, "Was there something you needed?"

"No, that is, yes," he answered, appearing unusually nervous. He shut his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and then continued, "I need to ask you to do something for me while I'm in London this season. If you're agreeable, I would like you to come with me this afternoon so that I may explain."

She tried to keep her jaw from dropping. Not only could she not believe that Mr. Carson wanted her to accompany him anywhere, but she was also going to hopefully find out exactly what she wanted without having to confront him or spy.

She agreed, to his obvious relief, and he left her to her thoughts as quickly as he'd disturbed them. Surely he wouldn't take her to meet another woman, would he? What possible reason would he have for that? Unless, of course, there was a child involved, and he wanted her to provide the stores from the house for them while he was gone. She shuddered inwardly at that thought. No; even Mr. Carson wouldn't be that unfeeling.

After luncheon, she met him at the back door, noticing that there was a package on the floor beside him. He held her coat for her, and she watched him carefully while she drew on her gloves. He wouldn't quite meet her eyes, but he waited patiently for her to finish. Perhaps, she thought, he had guessed that she had found the discrepancy and was going to try to make her a party to their deception. The most likely thing, no matter what her fears were, was that they were selling the extra stores. That level of dishonesty seemed so unlike him, even this him not the Charles that she thought she knew, that she couldn't bring herself to believe it.

They were on the path toward the estate cottages before he spoke, "Mrs. Hughes, I need to explain some things about the very special person you're going to meet. I want you to be prepared."

Her heart began to race, but she kept her face carefully neutral.

"He is not quite what he used to be," he said and her pulse began to slow to normal, "The reason that I am secretive about him is that he would not want others to see him like this. He always had quite a lot of pride about his appearance."

Elsie was intrigued, she knew Charles's, _Mr. Carson's, _she corrected herself, father was dead. What man could he be so concerned about?

"Mr. Jerkyns was the butler of Downton before I took that position," he explained, obviously deep in his own thoughts, "When my mother became ill several years ago…, you know that she was the housekeeper, don't you?" he paused to look at her and waited for her nod of affirmation, "About 14 year ago," he paused to look at her significantly, "as you know, she became ill; apoplexy, stroke, there are different names for it, but the important thing is that after her attack, she couldn't move her left side. She had difficulty doing even the simplest tasks to take care of herself. Mr. Jerkyns and she had an _understanding_; I suppose you would call it. After her attack she had to leave service," his frown turned to a fond smile, "Mr. Jerkyns surprised everyone by leaving with her. That is when I became butler."

Understanding began to dawn, "Is this who you take the stores to? Does the family know?"

He looked at her in surprise, "You noticed?" then answered his own question, "Of course you would. Yes; the family does know. Did you think I was stealing?"

She refrained from commenting, except with a downward turn of her eyes, and he spoke softly, "Surely you know me better than that."

Steeling herself, she met his eyes squarely and nodded. The corner of his mouth lifted at her acknowledgement, and he continued, "Mrs. Patmore knows that he is here, and the family knows, but no one else from the house, because he wouldn't want them to," he looked almost pained, "His mind isn't what it was. He doesn't wander, and he can take care of himself, mostly. There's a girl from the village that comes in to cook a little and stays with him during the day. He forgets, though, and gets distracted easily."

Her voice was tight with emotion when she spoke again. This was Charles exactly as she remembered him, and he was trusting her with one of his biggest secrets, "And you've cared for him all this time?"

"Elsie, he took care of my mother for over two years, night and day. No one could have asked for or expected more devoted care. Of course it is Lord and Lady Grantham who have" he admitted, "given him this cottage to live in and allowed me to bring supplies from the house. They take care of their own," he finished with pride.

She nodded, understanding a little more of his devotion to the family, "Why are you telling me about him now?"

"Because, while I am in London, I will need someone to visit him; to check on him and bring him supplies," he answered patiently, "Mrs. Patmore will be gone for quite a while to be with her sister. I needed someone I could trust to not pity him or be embarrassed. I think he might be more comfortable with you, since you didn't know him before. I'm introducing you to him, and vice versa, now because I want to give him some time to get used to you."

They had arrived at the cottage by this point, and Elsie could see a man sitting quietly in the front garden. Charles grasped her arm to pull her into the shadow of a tree so that they could observe him. As they watched, the man stood and straightened a tray that was sitting on a table beside him then stood at attention for a moment. After forgetting the tray and looking around distractedly, he sat back down. In just a few more moments, he seemed to notice the tray again and the cycle repeated itself.

Charles watched him sadly for another few minutes and then they entered the garden. The man stood formally to greet them, "Good afternoon, may I help you?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jerkyns, it's me, Charles," he answered a little sadly, "I've brought someone to meet you. She's our new housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes."

"I'm pleased to meet you, madam," he addressed Elsie with a little bow, "Charles's mother is a housekeeper and one of the best. You should meet her as well, but I'm not sure where she is just now." His voice trailed off, and he looked around as though to find her.

Elsie didn't miss the pained expression that crossed Charles's face before he answered, "That will have to wait for another time, Mr. Jerkyns. Perhaps we could go inside."

They started toward the front door of the cottage, but Mr. Jerkyns stopped them with alarm and directed them to the back door with an admonishment for Charles, "You know better than to enter by the front. Take the servants' entrance."

Once inside, they were able to spend a comfortable hour in conversation. Mr. Jerkyns in a well-worn armchair while she and Charles sat shoulder to shoulder on the settee. They were close enough that she could feel him tense when the conversation waned and relax when it flowed easier. Mr. Jerkyns might be confused, but he was pleasantly so. She did see occasional flashes of frustrated temper when he tried to remember recent events and couldn't, but Charles smoothed over the awkwardness to make him more comfortable. Elsie could easily see the dignified butler that the frail older man had been.

Once Charles seemed satisfied that the two of them could carry on a reasonable conversation without him, he excused himself to put the stores away. Elsie listened to the shuffling sounds in the kitchen for a few moments and noticed that Mr. Jerkyns had begun to doze. She rose to look around the room and moved to the mantle to examine the pictures there. There was a picture of Mr. Jerkyns and another of a woman who looked remarkably like Charles with warm eyes and a barely concealed smile. On the other side there was a picture of Mr. Jerkyns with the same woman, except she looked different. Elsie noticed that she held her arm tight against her body and her face seemed to droop a little on one side.

"My mother," Charles said grimly from just behind her shoulder, "They had promised to marry when they left service. He didn't hesitate to marry her after her attack. The vows are for better or worse, sick or well. At least that's what he said," his voice trailed off as though he was deep in thought.

Charles shook himself out of his reverie, "I made tea while I was in the kitchen. We should have it and then go back to the house. You can still have a little of your day to yourself."

"I don't mind," she said, looking at him over her shoulder, "This has been a pleasant afternoon, full of surprises."

She saw his eyes drift down to her lips for a moment before he swallowed suddenly and turned back to the tea things.

Sinking down gratefully on the settee once more, she took her cup with a hand that shook only slightly. Charles woke Mr. Jerkyns, who drank his tea greedily but only nibbled at the bread and butter that Charles had prepared. Elsie just sipped her tea silently and tried to gather her thoughts.

When they had finished she rose gratefully to clear up the few tea things and left Charles to talk to Mr. Jerkyns. When she returned, both men rose and Mr. Jerkyns gave her another small bow.

"It was very nice to have met you, Miss, ah, um," a look of pure panic came over his face when he couldn't recall her name. Charles stepped in rapidly to supply it, "Mrs. Hughes, sir."

"Oh yes, it was nice to have met you Mrs. Hughes," then he looked in puzzlement at Charles, "Hughes, why does that sound familiar?"

Charles held up his hand to cut him off, but was unable to stop him, "Oh yes, I remember. That is the name of the girl you are going to marry," turning back to Elsie, he asked her with the most innocent of expressions, "Are you related to her?"

Elsie met Charles's shocked expression evenly for a moment and was surprised at how steady her voice was, "No, sir, I am not."

When they had said their goodbyes and were on the path back to Downton, Elsie quickened her strides so that she could move away from Charles. Unfortunately, his long legs made that impossible. He walked by her side in silence for several long moments before she stopped and turned to him, "Mr. Carson, I know that you do not want to speak of the past and truthfully neither do I, but it is sure to come up from time to time. Could we, once for all, make peace with our past now?" she took a deep breath and exhaled before saying the most difficult words of her life, "I forgive you."

"You forgive me?" he asked incredulously, and she saw his jaw clench. A flash of anger passed through his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resignation. He ground out, "Very well, Mrs. Hughes. Thank you."

She continued, "We may never be more than friends, but surely we can at least be that."

"At least that," he agreed nodding stiffly, but looking anywhere but her eyes, "Will you be kind enough to look in on Mr. Jerkyns while I am away?"

She nodded, puzzled by his sudden anger, "I will be glad to, Mr. Carson."

They walked back to the house in stony silence, and there were no evening conversations for the next several nights.

Elsie couldn't understand why this path had grown so rocky in such a short time.

_**Reviews are welcome as always. I hope you don't get frustrated with the pacing of this story.**_


	5. A crooked path

_**Sorry for the delay, but summer is busy. I do have a rough draft of the next couple of chapters already written so expect updates fairly quickly. This does push the edge of the T-ness in the last couple of paragraphs so avoid if that bothers you.**_

**July 1904**

It was hot, stiflingly so. Elsie lay on top of her coverlet with her thinnest nightdress on and nothing underneath and was still damp with sweat. She paid no mind to the heat, however, as she read over his letter for the third time. When it had come with this morning's post, she had enough self-control to put it in her pocket and refused to allow herself the pleasure of reading it until she was alone. She had retired early for the evening with her heart thumping in her chest and had removed her corset in record time. It was strange how he seemed so distant when they were together and so close through his letters. He had written her each week that he'd been gone, five letters so far, and she knew that she could expect more. She had answered each one just as faithfully and couldn't help wondering if he sat in his rooms in London reading her words with as much pleasure as she took in his. That he read her letters there was no doubt. Each response seemed like the continuation of a long conversation, interrupted only by the need to limit the sheets of paper used.

What drew her attention the most was the closing, it was in response to an act of whimsy on her part. When she had closed her first letter, she found herself at a loss on how to end it. Sincerely was too formal. Yours truly seemed far too familiar. Finally, in frustration she had written, 'Your housekeeper, E. Hughes'. Almost as soon as she posted it, however, she had regretted it. It seemed a silly way to close a letter. What had she been thinking? What would he think? When his next letter came, her fears were put to rest. He continued the conversation as though nothing had changed and when she reached the close, her heart lifted to see the words, 'Your butler, C. Carson'.

The first letter had been innocent enough; merely an inquiry about how her first visit alone with Mr. Jerkyns had gone. It had gone exceedingly well, and she quickly put Charles's fears to rest. Somehow anytime that she thought of him in relation to Mr. Jerkyns, she could only think of him as Charles, perhaps because that was what he was called by the older man or perhaps because she could see the man she knew so well at those times. It seemed only polite when she finished describing her first visit unaccompanied to the cottage to ask about his London life. His reply had been surprisingly quick and frank. He was bored. While London offered many pleasant diversions, he would much rather be at Downton. Actually, the bulk of the letter was spent describing the staff at Grantham house. He even went so far as to include an unflattering portrait of the London housekeeper. She had laughed despite herself and then chided him gently in her answering letter that sped to London by return post. He had written back to beg her pardon and insist that he was going to devote all his free time to improving his mind with serious books, under no circumstances would he even glance at a frivolous novel. Also, he would assiduously avoid gossiping about the other staff and thus could not tell her how Miss O'Brien was being courted avidly by the butler down the street and had come back from a walk with her hat askew. As butler, he knew that he should discourage the relationship but he begged her pardon again for inwardly cheering heartily at the possibility of getting the woman off their hands.

She smiled to herself at the ease with which they were able to talk through their letters and rose to place this latest one in her dresser drawer. When she pushed the pages back to join the others, her fingers brushed a hard rectangular object. Her breath catching at the memories that threatened, she pulled the book out gently, running her finger over the gilded letters: **_The Wrong Box by R. L._ Stevenson**

She closed her eyes thinking that it hadn't so much been the wrong box as the wrong man or perhaps it was just the wrong time. She swallowed and steeled herself before opening the cover to read the name written boldly on the inside: Charles Carson. Holding up the letter that she'd just read, she compared the signatures. The one on the book was written bolder and with a flourish while his signature on the letter was much more controlled and careful. They were obviously written by the same man, but at radically different stages in his life.

She leafed through the first few pages of the book, having read it years ago. Smiling to herself, she remembered that he'd been far too busy with her those few days to get past the title page and wondered if he had read it since. Frowning, she closed the cover with a snap as she thought that it had all likely been lies. He had seemed so sincere, though, when he pressed the book into her hand, apologizing profusely for the lack of a ring but begging her to accept this as his engagement gift and a promise to return. No; she didn't believe it had really been lies. No man could be that good of a liar, and she had learned in the year since she'd become housekeeper that he was an especially poor one. Surely he truly meant to write to her and to return when he left. Something must have happened to prevent him. Perhaps he was merely distracted when he became butler and forgot her and what they had together. That he hadn't written could be forgiven, but that he had ignored her own letter still stung. It was in the past, though, and she would still try to let it go so that they could work together peaceably.

She was struck again by how at odds the picture of him that she had developed and hated over the years was with both the man that she had known then and the man she was coming to know now. In her heart, she wanted very much to confront him with this, to hear his answers and explanations. In her mind, though, she knew that was a very bad idea. The risk was too great that there would be an explosive argument with angry, hurtful words on both sides. She was not willing to take that risk. Her life here at Downton was a good one. She had risen to the top of her profession, the Crawleys were an easy family to work for, and she enjoyed those she worked with, even and perhaps especially Charles.

Her feelings for Charles Carson were so conflicted. She had hated the man she thought he was for so long. She had despised him for abandoning her when she had needed him desperately, but now she found herself drawn to him again. As long as he had been the stern and distant butler, she could suppress her feelings for him. Since he had introduced her to Mr. Jerkyns, and she had joined in caring for the older man, she found it increasingly difficult to ignore just how attractive she found Charles. He was as thoughtful and gentle with the old butler as any son would be, and it warmed her heart to see them interact. When they were at the cottage she was able to see him as a man and not butler. At Downton it was not too difficult to avoid remembering how his arms felt around her or how soft his lips were or how strong and sure his hands had felt touching her….

She shook herself quickly to prevent her mind from going down that path. Pouring herself a cup of tepid water, she drank it greedily pressing the cool glass to her throat. She dipped a flannel into the water and sponged her face and neck to try to cool her body and her thoughts. Finished with reading anything for the night, there was no way that she could concentrate on anything now; she blew out the lamp so that even the small amount of heat from it would not be added to the room. Lying down, she closed her eyes and tried again to still her thoughts which continued to drift back to him and that night. No matter how much she regretted what came after, she could not bring herself to regret that May Day eve. He'd given her the two most wonderful gifts she had ever received on that night and even the heartbreak that came after was worth it.

Thinking of that night made her remember how he had guided her hand over her own body, showing her how to relieve this tension that was strumming through her right now. She squeezed her thighs together to try to suppress her urges, but that only served to increase them. In her mind, she knew that she shouldn't give into this temptation. In the end, giving in would only make her long for his touch more. Her mind knew this, but her body needed release. Her hand stole to the hem of her nightdress almost of its own accord, inching it up her thighs. Then, in frustration at the heat, she sat up and pulled it over her head, letting it drop to the floor beside her bed. Her hands began to roam over her body, first to her breasts, encircling and teasing the nipples to hard peaks before pinching them almost painfully. Then she let one hand trail down her sweat slickened abdomen to her already damp thighs, pressing through the thick curls to find her center which she brushed lightly. Her fingers moved in rhythm on her nipple and her center, stroking and circling, occasional squeezing both gently. She found her release quickly and as she shuddered, she wondered if perhaps he thought of her as he touched himself as well. She lay breathless and panting, already drifting toward sleep. Shifting under the sheet, she decided to forgo putting her nightdress back on. After all, who would ever see her in this state?

Her last thought before she gave her mind over to dreams of him was that her path was growing more complicated every day.

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_


	6. A crossroads

_**I promised a quick update, so here is the next installment of the mystery. You will soon have some answers. **_

_**Disclaimer: Forgot to do this for the last chapter, but I didn't own them then and I still don't. I earn nothing from them. The only characters I claim as my own are Mr. Hughes and Mr. Jerkyns. Mr. Laughton is borrowed from a gracious Batwings who was kind enough to give this a quick read over.**_

**November 1905**

Elsie regarded the man across from her angrily. She had thought that she would never see this man again in her life and was not disappointed by that fact. That he had come primarily with the intention of receiving money from her was obvious. That he would make her miserable while trying to wheedle it out of her was expected. She had already decided to give him what little she could afford, but in the mean time, he seemed determined to ruin her day. Even worse was that this was the first day in almost a month that she had planned to visit Mr. Jerkyns with her butler.

In the two seasons that she had been charged with caring for the old man, she had grown to love him as a father; much more than the man sitting across from her right now. She loved him so much, in fact, that she continued her visits even after the seasons were over and Mr. Carson had returned. It was rare that she and Mr. Carson were able to be away from the house at the same time, so they usually visited him separately thereby doubling his company. He enjoyed seeing them together, however, and to please him they had made it somewhat of a tradition to ensure their visits coincided at least once a month. If she was truthful, she enjoyed these visits likely more than was safe. There was no romance between them. She didn't believe that could ever happen again, but they were friends. If she was honest, he was her best friend. Charles, she only thought of him as that on these days, was so relaxed and so much like the man she had been infatuated with that she could almost completely forget her hurt. He laughed at times and not always just when they were with Mr. Jerkyns. He had even taken to offering his arm to steady her as they walked, and she loved the feel of his strong arm under her hand.

Looking back at her father, she thought how much she wished that one could choose one's family. She couldn't look at him without remembering how he had treated her mother. If only she had the courage to simply tell him what she thought of him and push him out the door. Unfortunately, a not so small part of her was still the little girl afraid of the dark, stuffy cellar he had locked her in. With any other person, she would not hesitate to tell him her mind, but with him she felt as powerless as she had been as a little girl.

There was a sharp rap on her door, and she nearly jumped to answer it, hoping for some household crisis to pull her away. When she opened the door, she saw Mr. Carson standing stiffly with a tray.

"Mrs. Hughes, I understood from Mrs. Patmore that you had a visitor," he said, eyes traveling over her face questioningly, "We thought you might appreciate some refreshment."

She almost let out a frustrated groan. Now, she would have an even harder time getting rid of the man. But then she saw Mr. Carson looking significantly down at the tray and then back into her eyes. She looked down as well and noticed three cups. Catching on quickly, the corner of her mouth quirked in appreciation, and she nodded.

"Indeed, Mr. Carson," she agreed and opened the door wider, "Would you care to join us?"

"It would be an honor, Mrs. Hughes," he answered as he stepped into the room.

Her father rose and she turned to her butler once he'd set the tray down, "Mr. Carson, may I present my father, Elias Hughes. Father, this is Mr. Charles Carson the butler of Downton Abbey."

They eyed each other stiffly and shook hands. Her father squinted at Mr. Carson, "Have I met you before? You look familiar."

Mr. Carson's shoulders shifted slightly and he answered, or rather didn't answer, "I have a common face. I'm often mistaken for someone else."

Her father seemed satisfied with the answer even if she wasn't. She tucked it away as something to think about and ask him later. They both settled onto the settee while she sat in her armchair. She did not miss the fact that Mr. Carson took care to place himself between her and the older man.

Once her father had a bit of tea in his cup, he looked at Elsie slyly before addressing Mr. Carson, "So the two of you together run this house? What exactly does a butler do, besides dress in a fancy suit?"

Mr. Carson answered politely but formally, "Mrs. Hughes does the bulk of the running of the house. She has the responsiblity of seeing to most of the stores and the female servants. It is my job to see that the family is comfortable and all is done correctly. Of course, I also supervise the male servants."

Her father nodded before continuing, "What I don't understand is how my Elsie became 'Mrs.'? It's a lie, after all, isn't it? No man would marry her so she just took the name under false pretenses."

Elsie was surprised at the sudden stiffening of her butler's shoulders and his cold tone, "I can assure you, Mr. Hughes," he paused over the name as though disgusted before continuing, "that I am certain more than one man would have gladly married Mrs. Hughes. She chose her path in life, and we address her in this way to afford her the dignity she has earned."

Her father merely sniffed derisively and said, "Not likely that any man would be interested in her if she's as cold as her mother."

Mr. Carson opened his mouth to speak, but Elsie's anger was fully aroused now and his steady, solid presence lent her the strength necessary to defend both herself and her mother, "Father, I may not be married or have children of my own, but that does not mean that I do not have a family or a home. This is my home and I will not allow you to disrespect my mother while you are in it."

Her father clamped his mouth shut, but her butler gave her a sideways glance of pure pride. They all finished their tea in silence. Mr. Carson sat his cup down and turned to her thoughtfully, "Mrs. Hughes, I'm sure I don't need to remind you of our prior engagement this afternoon. Would you like me to make your excuses?"

She looked at him in dismay for a moment but then realized that this would be the perfect way to excuse herself. He really was her knight in worsted wool today.

"Not at all, Mr. Carson," she answered, "my father's train will leave soon. I'm sure he would like to be at the station early."

Her father started to protest, but he was cut off once again, "Ahhh. Well, there's no need to walk to the station. Let me have one of the boys fetch Mr. Taylor, and he can take you there in one of the cars. Better yet, I'll walk with you down to the garage. That way you won't get lost."

Her butler rose and waited patiently while her father put his coat and hat on very slowly in protest. Before she knew it he had ushered the man out her door and out of her home. She turned to clear up the tea things with a sigh of relief. This minor task was finished quickly as well as straightening her sitting room. As cold as it was, she opened her window to release the sour smell of liquor. By the time Mr. Carson returned, she was sitting behind her desk shaking as memories from her childhood nearly overwhelmed her.

He leaned through the doorway, "Mrs. Hughes, if you'll give me just a moment, I'll be with you. I need to change...What is it?"

She looked at him blankly and couldn't quite find the words to answer. He took another look at her face and said, "Come. We'll begin our visit now."

When she didn't comply immediately, he came around her desk and pulled her chair out, helping her to rise. Grasping her elbow, he propelled her into the hall and toward the door. He clapped his hat on his head and grabbed hers along with her coat but didn't pause to help her into them. Almost before she knew what was happening they were halfway down the lane leading to Mr. Jerkyns's cottage. He directed her to one side and held her coat and hat out to her with a smile of apology, "I beg your pardon for being so forceful, Mrs. Hughes, but I remembered how you don't like closed in spaces and thought you might appreciate being outside as quickly as possible."

After putting on her hat, she accepted his help into her coat wordlessly. Still engrossed in her own thoughts, she nodded absently while she buttoned her coat, and then turned to him with a half smile, "Thank you, Mr. Carson, this is just what I needed."

"There is no rush whatsoever. I had already informed Mrs. Patmore that we would likely share Mr. Jerkyns's dinner. When you are ready we can continue on our visit," he said clasping his hands behind him. That was when Elsie noticed that he was still wearing his morning livery and no overcoat.

"Mr. Carson, you'll catch your death," she admonished, "Go back and fetch your overcoat. I will wait here for you."

"Are you my mother?" he asked with an uplifted eyebrow, "I am quite warm. I will do perfectly fine without my overcoat." The quick shiver that ran through him with the next gust of wind revealed his words for the lie they were. She lifted her eyebrow at him, and he gave her a wry smile, "Perhaps it is a bit chilly, but I believe that I have an old overcoat at the cottage. If we just continue on, I'll be able to wear it back. That way I'll only catch half my death."

Smiling in spite of herself, she nodded, and he offered her his arm. She took it as much to lend him some of her warmth as to steady herself. Looking down at the hand that patted hers reassuringly, she saw that his knuckles were scraped. Regarding him suspiciously, she asked, "Mr. Carson, what has happened to your hand?"

He looked down at his hand as if only just noticing the injury, "Nothing of any regard. I must have scratched it as I was helping your father into the car."

She wisely chose to accept his answer without further explanation.

They walked along in silence for a few minutes before he cleared his throat, "I hope that you don't feel that I over-stepped myself in speaking to your father."

"Not at all, Mr. Carson," she replied quietly, "I'm only sorry that you had to meet him. I don't know if he was entirely sober, and he's bitter, I believe," then she added almost as an afterthought, "I hope he gets on the right train."

"He will," Mr. Carson assured her firmly as he smiled down at her, "I instructed Mr. Taylor to stay with him and see him onto the right train. When he heard you would be upset if Mr. Hughes were to remain behind, he was eager to do so."

"Thank you," she smiled up at him and hugged his arm to her side for a moment, "It is a pity we can't choose our family."

He watched the ground before them thoughtfully before speaking quietly, "It's true we can't choose the family we are born into, but you said yourself that we have a family of sorts. I feel responsible for the younger servants, like children in a way, or maybe nieces and nephews. Mrs. Patmore is like an older sister to me, and Mr. Taylor and Mr. Laughton are better friends than any brothers could have been."

"That is what I was thinking of as well. I suppose Mrs. Patmore and I argue enough to be sisters," she smiled ruefully, then looked back at him thoughtfully, "And us, Mr. Carson, what is it that we are to each other? Brother and sister?"

He looked surprised by the question for a moment, but then spoke softly and earnestly, "I am not sure what it is we are to each other, Mrs. Hughes, but it is not brother and sister."

His words rumbled through straight to her heart, and she knew they'd reached a fork in their path.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	7. Choosing a path

_**No time jumps here. This chapter follows on directly from the last. I can't promise an update tomorrow, but it will be soon. (By the way, I picture Mr. Samuel Jerkyns as an older Alec Guinness and Mrs. Grace Carson as an older Ethel Barrymore, photos are on my Tumblr blog.)**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing & nobody. I earn only sleepless nights and the addiction of reviews.**_

She gasped in surprise, and her step hesitated for just a moment. She stared down at the ground before them for a moment before lifting her eyes to meet his, startled by the tenderness that she saw there. Speaking hoarsely she said, "Mr. Carson, you cannot say such things and expect..."

"I don't expect anything from you, Elsie," he made her name sound like an endearment, "but I can't continue to pretend that you are nothing to me but a friend. I know, that is, you've made it clear by your actions that you want nothing more than that, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't want to be more than a friend to you."

She blinked back the tears that threatened, "Charles," she began, saying the name that she only allowed herself to use in her head, "I admit that you mean more to me than a friend, much more, but I cannot forget what happened all those years ago. If that hadn't happened, if we had just met, then maybe we could be more. I think I would very much like to be more."

His eyes closed for a moment when she said his name, but then his face turned to stone again. He fixed his eyes on the road ahead, "Do you truly regret that time?"

"Of course not," she spoke forcefully, "But I regret the after."

"And so do I," he said, stopping and turning to face her. By this time, they were near enough to the cottage that Mr. Jerkyns had noticed their approach. He opened the door to them, and Elsie felt a pang of guilt, realizing that he must have been waiting for them.

"Come in," he said and then chided Charles, "Where is your overcoat? You'll catch your death."

Elsie smiled inwardly at hearing Charles, at his age, being treated like a child. She shot him a triumphant glance. He grimaced back at her but allowed himself to be drawn into the sitting room in front of the fire. She greeted Mr. Jerkyns warmly and then busied herself making tea. The familiar ritual helped to sooth her nerves.

By the time that she returned to the sitting room with the tea, she found herself a little angry with Charles. For him to make such a confession at such a time was thoughtless. He should have waited until they had time to discuss it properly. She was so preoccupied that she couldn't focus on the conversation. Mentally shaking herself, she reminded herself that this visit wasn't for her benefit. She was here to provide companionship to Mr. Jerkyns. Turning her attention back to him, she caught his next words, "It was after the garden party. We were so angry with each other. I can't even remember why," his next words were directed at Charles, but they caused tears to sting Elsie's eyes, "We wouldn't talk for days. I thought if we didn't talk we would avoid an argument, but we only made it drag on. Once we _disagreed_ with each other, we were able to move past it."

He directed his gaze toward Elsie, and she noticed how clear his eyes were, "You seem distracted, Elsie. Has Charles done something to upset you? He can be thoughtless sometimes, put his mother through all kinds of bother."

"Mr. Jerkyns," Charles shook himself out of his reverie to speak, "Mrs. Hughes had a visitor before we came here; her father. It was not the most pleasant of visits."

"Her father? All the way from Argyll?" he asked.

Elsie watched Charles in shocked silence. How did Mr. Jerkyns know where her father lived? Surely Charles hadn't told him about her unhappy childhood. That had been a private matter that she entrusted to him.

Charles's gaze fixed on his feet for a moment before he lifted his eyes to meet hers sadly. She shook her head at him in disbelief and tried to make sense of what the older man was saying.

Confused, she rose to clear the tea things, more as a way to busy herself than anything else. Taking Charles's cup from his shaking hand, she saw that he had drunk even less than she had. Before she had even poured out the leftover tea and emptied the leaves into the bin, Charles followed her into the kitchen.

"I've been instructed to come apologize," he said with a wry smile.

In spite of her anger and confusion, she smiled back at him over her shoulder, "How does he know you've done anything wrong?"

"He doesn't," and she heard the smile deepen in his voice, "He said it didn't matter if I was in the wrong or right, I should apologize because life was too short for us to be at odds. And anyway I had probably done something excessively stupid."

She gave a short laugh and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, "Life is too short."

He put his hand on her shoulder and trailed it down her arm, catching her hand in his and tugging on it gently, "Face me, please, Elsie. Surely I at least deserve that."

When she turned to face him, he didn't let her hand go, but just gave it a warm squeeze, "Will you forgive me for overstepping myself? I will-, I will attempt to accept the fact that we can just be friends."

"Charles," she sighed, "I'm not really angry with you. It's just that we keep avoiding this, and we need to talk about it. Now is not the right time or the right place, however."

"Elsie," he said patiently, lip twisting again in a half smile, "I don't know if a week would be enough time."

"Very well," she answered setting her mouth in a grim line, "How will I ever be able to believe that I'm nothing more than a convenience for you? That you won't abandon me again?"

"A convenience?" he asked incredulously, dropping her hand, "You are anything but convenient. And me abandon you? After what you did to me, that's rich!" he scoffed.

"What did I do to you besides wait for a letter that did not come?"

His eyes went cold, "Do not lie, Elsie. I can forgive anything but that, and have."

"I have done nothing that requires forgiveness," she said stiffly.

His mouth gaped open, then closed in a tight line, and his face turned red. He ran his hand through his hair and took a step toward her before stopping himself and stepping out the door instead. She watched through the window as long, determined strides carried him across the back garden. Turning back to the washing up to calm her nerves, she watched as he stopped near the bench and stood still as a statue. Mr. Jerkyns came into the kitchen just after Charles had stalked out.

"What is wrong with that boy?" he asked, peering out the window at the man standing stiffly on the other side of the garden.

"He's angry," she answered tightly, "with me. I think he went outside to calm down."

He turned to her in puzzlement, "Why would he be angry with you?"

She watched him steadily, "Mr. Jerkyns, I'm afraid that I have been dishonest with you. You asked me once if I was related to the woman Charles intended to marry..."

"And of course you're not, dear," he finished for her soothingly, "you're her."

"How did you know?"

"It's obvious from the way he looks at you," he answered, "If a man looks at a woman like that, he should marry her, but he's at least as stubborn as his mother," then as though a moment of complete clarity came over him, his face fell and he added sadly, "She would have liked you, I believe. I wish she could have met you."

A wave of sadness for the older butler came over her. Perhaps sometimes it was better to forget. "I wish that I could have met her too."

"Then why didn't you come when he wrote?" he asked, confused.

"Because he never wrote me," she answered patiently, biting back her hurt. She wouldn't be cross with this man. Not when her anger should be directed at another.

"You must be mistaken, dear," he said just as patiently, "I am quite sure he did, very sure. It was the hearts, you see. I know because of the hearts. He asked for them so he could get the drawing just right."

She smiled at him and squeezed his arm. Poor, dear, confused man. But then she looked into his clear eyes. He was so sure. What if he wasn't mistaken?

"Charles said that he had an overcoat here. Can you show me where it is?" she asked, a decision solidifying in her mind.

He brought her the overcoat and smiled to see that she already had hers on when he returned. Nodding approvingly, he opened the door for her to step outside.

She took a deep breath and looked across the garden. Without a doubt, she knew which path she wanted to take.

_**Reviews are always welcome. **_


	8. Reconnecting

_**This part is pretty sad but also has most of the answers. They still have some talking to do and some more answers to come. **_

_**Disclaimer: Not owned by me. No money earned by me. **_

She crossed the garden quietly, but his sharp ears still picked up her approach. He sighed audibly, "Mrs. Hughes, perhaps it is better that we do not..."

He broke off as he turned to face her noticed his overcoat in her arms. She could see by the light in his eyes that he understood it was her peace offering. Taking it from her, he shrugged into it gratefully and watched her while he buttoned it slowly.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she licked her lips and swallowed. Suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze, she turned to look back at the house before she spoke, "Charles, did you write to me all those years ago?"

He kept his gaze fixed in the opposite direction from hers and whispered hoarsely, "Do not play games with me. You know very well that I did." She saw the corner of his lip quirk up into a smile, "I couldn't even wait until I could sit down at a proper desk. I wrote the first in pencil on the train and mailed it as soon as we arrived at Ripon."

She closed her eyes as her heart surged at the thought. Opening them she turned to him to see that he was studying her carefully. "The first?"

"As you very well know, I sent you four letters," he said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "I will admit that I regretted writing and sending the last. It was written in anger and not very generous, I'm afraid."

"I never received any letters from you, in pencil or otherwise," she said softly, her voice wavering.

He swallowed hard and then shook his head disbelievingly, "Elsie, they were opened. When I went to find you at Holbrook House, Mr. Stevens gave them to me. They were opened. I know that you read them."

It was her turn to look at him in disbelief. "You came to Holbrook House?"

"Late. I had promised you before Christmas, but I didn't come until nearly nine months later. I was angry and thought you didn't want me. I came to get an explanation," he ground out, muscle in his jaw clenching. "You were already gone and had left no word for me where. Mr. Stevens was quite happy to point that out," he finished grimly.

"Now I know you can't be telling the truth," she said scornfully, "I wrote you to tell you where I would be, and why. It was quite clearly spelled out, in a way that only you would understand," she turned away from him as her voice wavered, " Even though I hadn't heard from you, I wrote to you, hoping that you would come."

"Why?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper now.

"Why what?"

His eyes seeking hers, he asked again, "Why did you leave?"

She paused, blinking, and swallowed the lump in her throat, steeling herself to answer, "I went to a Magdalene house. Do you know what that is?"

He nodded, speechless, eyes wide and leaned toward her.

Forcing herself to continue, she said, "Afterwards, Henry and I went to my sister's home. I bought a cheap ring and told everyone that my name was _Mrs._ Hughes and my husband had died on his way to America."

She looked up at him and saw that all the blood had drained from his face. He took a step forward then looked around wildly for a moment before sinking down heavily on the bench. "A son? We have a son?"

Even after all these years, it tore her heart to think of it and more to speak of it, "No; we had a son." Her knees started to give way, but Charles had her wrapped in his arms before she could fall. She sank gratefully into his embrace and rested her head on his chest. She whispered against his overcoat, "Scarletina. He had just turned three. His fever was so high. He had the most beautiful curly brown hair, all wet and plastered to his head. He couldn't eat because his throat was sore. His smile was exactly like yours."

His thumb brushed the tears that spilled over her cheeks away. She allowed herself the release of tears in his arms, something that she had needed all those years ago. His strength surrounded her and supported her while she grieved once more for their child. She felt his tears dampening her hair, and he pulled her tighter into his embrace. He whispered with his lips pressed to her cheek, "Elsie, love, I didn't know. I would have been there. I had no idea. I'm so sorry. So very, very sorry."

She clutched at the lapels of his coat, struggling to regain control, "I believe you. I've been hurt and angry for so long, but in these past few years I've begun to see that you would never have deserted me."

He leaned back to look into her eyes, but thankfully, he didn't loosen his hold on her. She didn't think she could have stood on her own if he released her.

"Why didn't you send a telegram? Or try to reach me after that initial letter?" he asked, "You should have at least expected me to support our child, our son." His voice cracked on the last word.

"Pride, I suppose. If you wouldn't have me before he was born, I didn't want your help after," she answered, eyes fixed on the top buttons of his shirt, "And how could I have sent you a telegram to the Sta…"

She was cut off by his lips covering hers and gave herself over to his tender and hungry kiss.

He pulled away, breathless, and pressed his forehead to hers, "Now I know you didn't get my letters. If you had you would know I never went to the States."

"Never went?" she asked, incredulous.

"No," he answered, pulling her with him to the bench and encouraging her to sit. He loosened his hold on her but kept one arm around her as he sat down beside her, "Elsie, my mother had her attack just after we returned to Downton. Lord Grantham insisted that I stay here. I told you that in my third letter."

"Third?" This was all overwhelming her. He'd never been to the States? He'd written her all those times?

"Third," he nodded firmly then a look of speculation came into his eyes, "Elsie, shall I tell you what my letter said?"

At her nod, he continued:

"_Dear future wife, _

_My plans have changed. Mother has had an attack and is very ill. I am afraid to leave her even long enough to come to you, but I beg you to come to me now. I would very much like you to meet her. The doctors do not give much hope, and I still fear the worst will happen. If you will have me, I will marry you as soon as the banns are finished and bestow all my worldly wealth upon you consisting of two suits of clothes, three shirts, five books, eight pounds, six shillings, and a small brooch. Please see the enclosed picture of the brooch for your approval. _

_Signed your eager future husband"_

In answer, she pressed her forehead to his shoulder and whispered, "Oh, Charles."

He pulled her into his arms again and said, "You shouldn't be out here in this cold for so long. Let me take you back inside."

When she hesitated, he said, "I don't want to stop discussing this, but I also don't want you to catch your death."

"Very well," she nodded with an upward twist of her mouth for his reminder of her own words, "And we are here to visit Mr. Jerkyns after all."

He grunted as he rose and pulled her to her feet, "Considering that he's been all but ordering me to have the banns read for the past year, I doubt he'd mind if we sat out here and kissed each other senseless for the rest of the evening."

She stopped short, "The hearts! The brooch you mentioned, did it have hearts?"

"It did," he nodded, urging her to continue toward the cottage, "It's called a luckenbooth, I believe."

"Two hearts entwined with a crown above?" When he nodded again, she explained, "That was what he meant. Mr. Jerkyns said he knew you'd written because of the hearts."

"I had to ask for it. I wanted to get the drawing just right, of course," he smiled, "Mr. Jerkyns knew exactly where my mother kept it. As a matter of fact, he knew his way around her room much better than he should have."

"Housekeepers and butlers falling in love seems to be a Downton tradition," she said wryly as they reached the back door of the cottage.

"And I believe in keeping up traditions," he nodded and then looked at her earnestly, stopping her from entering, "Are we then?"

"Falling in love?" she asked, meeting his gaze squarely.

He nodded and continued to watch her.

"I don't know," she confessed, cupping his cheek in her hand, "I've been drawn to you despite the past, and now…It will take time to know, I think."

He gave her a half smile of acceptance and released her arm. When he held the door open for her, she moved gratefully into the warmth of the kitchen.

She couldn't wait to see where this new path took them.

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_


	9. Traveling together

_**I think this chapter should answer just about everything. I believe that this may be the end, maybe just a little supplemental smut for fun and an epilogue. **_

_**Disclaimer: They still don't belong to me and I have to slave away at a regular job to afford internet access to feed my habit.**_

Charles had been half expecting to find Mr. Jerkyns, the old busybody, standing at the window when they came into the kitchen. He had little doubt that his old friend had likely watched them in the garden with the eagerness of a child watching a puppet show. When he wasn't there or in the sitting room a moment of panic had struck at the thought that he might have wandered outside. He had seemed so clear today; surely he wouldn't have gone out into the cold. His fears were alleviated when he checked the bedroom and found him lying on top of the covers, eyes closed and shoes neatly stowed beside the bed. Smiling, he shook his head in disbelief that the man could sleep when his own life was being turned upside down but was grateful for the chance to talk a little more in private with Elsie.

When he returned to the kitchen, he found Elsie in a delightful pose that he had missed dreadfully. She was bent over with her back to him and searching through the store cupboard. While he did manage not to groan, he wasn't some randy young man any more after all, he did enjoy the view for a few heartbeats before clearing his throat to alert her of his presence. She straightened suddenly, banging her head on the shelf above with a muttered curse. He stepped over to her side to steady her and asked, "Why are you rummaging through the store cupboard?"

She stood rubbing her head for a moment and answered with a grimace, "If you told Mrs. Patmore that we were going to have our dinner with Mr. Jerkyns, we should probably start to fix it."

"Oh," he said, mildly surprised, "I hadn't really thought of that. Usually we would just have something out of the stores that we brought. But…"

She gave a sharp nod, "But you thankfully hurried me out of the house before I got myself into a state, forgetting the stores in the process."

She bent over to look in the store cupboard again, and a groan did escape this time. She looked back at him over her shoulder questioningly, but that only made things worse. Maybe he was younger than he thought, or randier than he thought, or it had just been a long time. This had to either stop or he needed to go outside where it was very cold. She shifted to look at something farther back in the cupboard, and he thought he might need to take a dip in the creek as well.

"Elsie," his voice sounded almost panicked even to his own ears so he moderated his tone, "Why don't you let me do that while you, um, check the cold box?"

He pulled off his jacket and laid it over a chair then rolled up his sleeves. If he was going to help the woman cook, he should at least be comfortable. As he searched the store cupboard, he struggled to find something to take his mind off of his current state, "I'm sorry I didn't know your father was there sooner. I wouldn't have left you alone with him for that long."

"Charles," she said patiently, "It's not your duty to protect me from my father." Charles thought her voice sounded a little odd.

Spying a basket of potatoes and a few carrots along with one wrinkled onion, he grunted in satisfaction and bent over to retrieve one of the potatoes that had rolled out of the basket. He was surprised to hear a sharp intake of air from behind him and looked over his shoulder to see if she had hurt herself again.

She was watching him so intently that he decided to try a small experiment and shifted slightly. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away quickly. Grinning to himself, he quickly scooped up the potatoes and carrots and stood up. It was gratifying to know that he wasn't the only one affected.

"Did you find anything in the cold box?" he asked casually as he carried his load to the sideboard.

She turned back to the cold box and withdrew a covered plate with the remains of a ham. Studying it and what he had brought from the cupboard, she said, "Perhaps soup? We can boil the hambone and put the vegetables in. Maybe even sandwiches from the ham."

"Excellent idea," he smiled, still remembering the look in her eyes from a moment before, "I'll help you with the vegetables if you'll do the seasoning."

She smirked at him, obviously happy to leave behind their deeper conversation for a little while. Handing him one of the aprons she found behind the door, she said, "Peeling vegetables? Isn't that a bit beneath the dignity of the butler?"

"It most certainly is," he answered with mock gravity as he tied on the apron, "But it was never beneath the dignity of Charlie the kitchen boy."

He was rewarded with her laugh, which he had only heard briefly for the past few years. The decision immediately solidified in his mind that he would make every effort to make her laugh and smile at least once every day for the rest of his life.

It had not taken long for him to deduce what had happened to his letters all those years ago, but he wondered if she had come to the same conclusion. Once he'd made a good start on the potatoes, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, "Elsie, did you post your letter yourself?"

Her hand faltered for just a moment in slicing the carrot. "You think that as well then?" she asked softly.

"It's the only possible explanation," he answered, voice grim as he concentrated on the potato he was dicing.

She paused and scraped the carrots from her cutting board into the pot of now boiling water. He chanced another glance at her and saw her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"I don't like to think that he would have gone that far," she said so softly he had to strain to hear, "But he was," she paused as though searching for the right word, "different after you'd gone. More insistent, I suppose, and a little angry."

"Angry?" Charles asked, his own blood near the boiling point, "What right had he to be angry?"

She shook her head at him and then pushed the pot back on the stove a little to a slightly cooler spot and the roiling boil turned to a slow simmer. He put the potatoes that he'd diced into the water and covered the pot to give it time to cook. After wiping his hands and removing his apron, he leaned back against the counter to watch her carefully.

"It was as though as long as I didn't want to marry anyone, he could accept it," she said, wiping her hands on the cloth he'd handed her and removing her apron, "When he realized that it was just that I didn't want to marry _him_, he grew bitter."

He shook his head, all the anger and hurt that he'd directed at Elsie and himself for years now had a new focus, "And how could he have known that if he didn't see, _and read_," the very thought infuriated him, "my private letters to you?"

"Oh, Charles, you and I thought we were being so careful about showing our feelings, but they must have been obvious. Everyone both at the house and the village thought we were promised to each other," she said, voice cracking just a little as she turned away from him.

He caught her face in his hand and turned her back to him, "Elsie, the things I wrote in those letters," he said, "I wasn't indiscreet, but I poured out my heart to you. And he would have known we wanted to marry each other. What sort of petty man would keep two people in love from marrying? I don't think I can forgive that. What's more, if he read your letter to me and guessed at the truth... Well, I can't think of a suitable punishment for keeping me from you."

She shook her head vigorously and fingered the buttons of his shirt, "No, I was very careful in what I wrote." She smiled sadly, "I thought you were in the States, you see. What if your mother or someone else had opened it? I merely said that unforeseen circumstances had caused me to leave, and if you wished to retrieve what belonged to you, I could be found at my sister's home."

He couldn't resist the urge any longer to hold her and so he tentatively wrapped his arms around her waist, but not too tightly. She encouraged him by leaning into his embrace, and he smiled down at her, "So you belonged to me, did you? I wouldn't have thought Elisabeth Hughes belonged to any man."

She clicked her tongue at him, "I meant your book as you very well know. Of course, if you'd wished to put me in your pocket and take me home with you as well, I probably wouldn't have resisted."

He leaned down to brush his lips lightly over hers, not wanting to press her in any way. "I wish I'd known where your sister lived or that Mrs. Reynolds had known."

She straightened in surprise, "You went to see Mrs. Reynolds?"

"Of course; I tried every way I could think of to find you. I admit that at first it was because I was angry and wanted to confront you, but then I just wanted an explanation."

Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him suspiciously, "You did meet my father before, didn't you?"

Avoiding the urge to jump back, he just removed one hand from her waist and rubbed the top of his ear, then suddenly his collar seemed a tad tight, and he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, "I, um, that is, I did go to Argyll, as well as the little village where you said you first worked."

"Why was it you didn't want me to know?" she asked, eyes narrowing even more.

Finding a point on the wall just above her shoulder, he answered carefully, "I suppose that I didn't want you to know the extent to which I had gone to find you."

"I see," she said, still watching him so closely that he had to fight the urge to squirm. She had certainly picked up that little trick of good housekeepers perfectly.

"And he might have been more intoxicated than he was today and I might have still been angry about recent events and I might have stuck his head in a bucket of water and he might perhaps have ended the conversation with a bloody nose," he finished in a rush, embarrassed at his own embarrassment. For heaven's sake, he was a grown man over 50 years old, not some schoolboy caught in mischief.

She surprised him by grasping his face in both of her hands and pulling his lips to hers for a kiss. When she released his lips, she whispered against them, "Thank you. For defending me, then and today."

Before she could pull completely away, he pressed his lips to hers again and drew her tight against him. When they broke apart, dazed and breathless, she said, "This is not a good idea." Then she tangled her hands in the hair on the back of his head and pulled him back down to her. Her tongue darted out against his lips, and he opened his mouth eagerly to accept her exploration, stumbling backwards to lean against the wall and pulling her with him.

Pulling his mouth away from hers with an effort, he whispered as he trailed kisses down to her neck, "Elsie, this is a bad idea. We shouldn't be doing this." He lifted one hand from her waist to the neck of her dress and pulled it down so that he could nibble the skin a little farther down.

"A terrible idea," she agreed, tilting her head which allowed him better access. Reluctantly, he nipped the skin below her left ear lightly one last time and then pulled away, letting his forehead rest against hers as he struggled to calm his racing heart.

Once he felt that he could speak in something approaching complete sentences, he said, "Elsie, I want you so much that I'm afraid I won't be able to think. I've missed you, this, and recently, when we've been close it's almost overwhelming."

"I feel, and have felt the same," she answered, sounding a little breathless herself and clutching at his waistcoat.

He loosened his hold on her slightly and leaned down to kiss her not hungrily but softly and tenderly. It seemed that the kiss had hardly begun before they were interrupted by a cough from the passageway.

Mr. Jerkyns sounded mildly amused when he spoke, "I take it you apologized Charles. That's good. Will we be having dinner soon?"

Elsie startled and would have pulled away, but Charles would not release his hold on her. He had already decided that he would never let her go again. From now on, they would take this journey together.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	10. Burying the past

_**I lied. Not intentionally, but as I started to work on the epilogue too many plot bunnies were hopping over my path. There will be a few more chapters of this installment to tie up some loose ends. **_

_**Disclaimer: I still do not own them but I do feel that I make better use of them at times than their present owners. **_

When Elsie walked through the cemetery gate, her eyes quickly sought and found him standing in nearly the same position as when she'd left. They had come here first from the station, and then she had gone on to meet her sister alone. His head was bowed, but his back was straight and his hands were gripped tightly behind his back. A surge of empathy welled up within her, and she crossed to his side as quickly as she could over the soft ground. When she placed her hand on his wrist, he looked down at her with a sad smile and his hand found hers, squeezing her fingers reassuringly.

"Has your sister forgiven me?" he asked with a hoarse voice as his other hand brushed over his eyes.

She nodded and let her fingers lace through his so that she could hold his hand tighter, wishing that gloves were not separating them from feeling each others' skin, "Once she knew there was nothing to forgive. I showed her the date on the first letter to convince her of the truth," she explained when she saw his questioning look, and then quickly reassured him, "Never you worry, I didn't let her read it. She wants to meet you now, if you'll come."

"Of course I'll come. I wanted to go with you from the first," he began gruffly.

She cut him off with a hand on his chest, "You must trust to my judgment in this. Her temper is hotter than mine, and she would have said things that could never be forgotten. I wanted her to be convinced of what really happened before she met you for the first time."

His jaw tightened briefly as though he was going to argue, but he merely nodded shortly and offered her his arm, turning with one last glance over his shoulder at the gravestone. "The letters are yours," he said softly, "You could have let her read them if you wished."

She shook her head, "But the sentiments and the words are yours. Only you and I really need to know what those letters say. Sarah's too nosy by half," she finished with a sniff.

"Completely unlike her sister," he said solemnly, and she glanced up at him through her lashes to confirm the smile on his lips.

"Completely," she agreed with a sharp nod and squeezed his forearm, returning his smile.

He opened the gate for her to walk through and after she had taken his arm again, he said, "Henry Charles. Thank you for that."

She leaned against him for a moment when her step faltered, "He was a fine boy but such a mess. I couldn't get his hair to stay in place for anything. No matter what I did that one curl…" She broke off and swallowed the lump in her throat. "It was like having a miniature version of you, except with blue eyes."

"He should have had my last name as well." His voice was thick, and his jaw clenched. She needed to try one last time to dissuade him from what he had planned.

"Charles, I still believe we should let the past bury the past," she resumed their argument cautiously.

He stopped and turned toward her, pulling her out of the way behind a tree. "We've been over this at least a dozen times," he said tightly, "I cannot do that. He cost us our family. Can you imagine how different our lives would have been?"

She fixed her eyes on his tie, not wanting him to see her pain, "I'd rather not do that. We can't change the past now, and it casts a shadow on the future."

His expression softened and his hand lifted to caress her upper arm. She was sure he would have pulled her into his arms if they'd been alone. "You're right about that, but at some point we need to confront that ghost as well."

"Very well," she said, straightening and tugging on his arm to get him started back toward their meeting with her sister, "I'll trust to your judgment on this."

"Wise woman," he nodded and said with a smile in his voice, "It's taken you less than two weeks to learn to obey me. That will certainly get this relationship off to a fine start." She could tell by the crinkle of his eyes that he was teasing her and probably hoping for an explosive reaction.

"Silly man," she scoffed, "I did not agree to obey you, just to trust you. There is a difference."

He patted her hand with his and let his fingertips linger over hers, "I will have to be satisfied with that. I would much rather have your trust than your obedience."

"Charles," she said, at once serious, "After reading those letters, I don't believe I'll ever doubt you again."

"And I, my dear, dear, Elsie," he matched her tone, "will endeavor to never give you cause to doubt."

Smiling up at him wickedly, she let her gaze linger on his lips and said, "And, of course, there are other compensations."

"Other compensations?" he asked, voice rising slightly in pitch.

She nodded, "You are very _accomplished_ in certain areas."

"You are a very wicked woman to remind me of such things right before I'm to meet your sister for the first time," he leaned down to whisper in her ear before opening the door of the tea shop they'd now reached.

_**~C**__**C**__**E~**_

Blinking a little to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the shop, Charles scanned the room as he helped Elsie out of her coat. By the time he'd removed his own coat and hat, he had spotted the lone woman sitting across the room. She looked just enough like Elsie that he could have guessed her as her sister. For a moment he wondered if he would have recognized her even if he met her by chance. Elsie grasped his hand to pull him in the right direction, and he was grateful that their gloves were removed so that he could be reassured by feeling her warm skin against his own.

Once they were seated and introductions were made, the first moments of awkwardness were alleviated by the business of pouring out the tea and choosing pastries. Charles was grateful for the time to study Sarah Cauthon and take her measure. No matter what Elsie had said, she still did not look pleased to meet him. He decided to let her begin the conversation and sipped his hot tea gratefully. Waiting in the cemetery had chilled him more than he realized, and his throat was still sore from tears he hadn't wanted to shed.

Mrs. Cauthon began the conversation pleasantly enough; surprising Charles and a quick sideways glance told him that it surprised Elsie as well. The conversation flowed relatively easily, but stiffly. A good half hour was spent in reviewing his childhood and life to this point, although Charles was careful to skim over any parts of his life that he would only share with Elsie. Elsie kept her knee pressed firmly against his during the conversation, and he drew strength from her steady presence. When it seemed that he and Mrs. Cauthon could carry on a conversation without arguing, Elsie excused herself for a moment to go to the washroom. Charles chewed at his lip as he watched her go, worried that visiting their son's grave might have brought too many bad memories back for her.

He was startled out of his reverie as much by the change in Mrs. Cauthon's tone as by her question, "And will you do the right thing where Elsie is concerned this time, Mr. Carson?"

Turning his full attention back to her, he weighed his words carefully before answering, "I believe, Mrs. Cauthon, that you know I fully intended to do the right thing all along."

She sniffed, "Hmmph. The right thing would have been to never put her in that position in the first place."

"Perhaps," he agreed with an inclination of his head, "but we had no way of knowing what would happen to separate us. At any rate, isn't that something for her to decide?"

She shook her head in distaste, "Do you have any idea what that," the disgust was evident in her voice, "place she went to was like?"

He couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him at the thought, "I have heard rumors, yes."

"Mr. Cauthon went to bring her home when we found out where she was," she said with a grimace, "I wouldn't wish that on any woman, least of all my sister."

"Of course not," Charles murmured, but Mrs. Cauthon went on as though he hadn't said anything.

"She stayed with us until Henry died," she continued, "He was a good lad. He and little Davey were just three months apart, like two peas in a pod. I watched him while Elsie worked at anything she could find. Left the house before dawn and came back after dark most nights, worn to the bone."

Charles swallowed convulsively, this wasn't something he particularly wanted to hear about or even imagine. She continued, though, in a quiet tone meant for his ears only.

"I suppose you know that she was sick as well when Henry died," she said watching for his reaction carefully.

Charles hardly noticed her scrutiny, however, because his mind was reeling and heart racing with the thought that he could have lost Elsie. She could have died, and he would never have known. He couldn't keep himself from passing his hand over his eyes in horror at the thought. Every instinct told him to get up and walk out, or better yet, run. Anything to get away from the thought that he could have lost not just his child but the only woman he had ever, would ever, love at the same time.

When he met Sarah's gaze again, he noticed that her eyes had softened considerably. Perhaps now she believed that he truly loved Elsie. She finished with a kind whisper, hand on his arm where it rested heavily on the table, "She was so ill that she didn't even know he had died until her fever broke. If she had known, I doubt that she would have made it through."

A quick glance up told them both that Elsie was returning to the table. Charles spoke, voice thick again with emotion, "Thank you, Mrs. Cauthon. I doubt that Elsie would ever have told me that."

She smiled at him kindly, "No, she probably would not, and if you're to be my brother, then perhaps you should call me Sarah."

Charles rose to pull out Elsie's chair for her and nodded to Sarah warmly, "Then, of course, you must call me Charles."

Sarah excused herself to the washroom then, and Elsie turned to Charles, "How did you two become such fast friends?"

Charles put his hand on hers, reassured again by how warm and very much alive that it felt. "I believe, my dearest Elsie, that we are agreed that we only want the best path possible for you for all the rest of your days."

_**Reviews are always welcome and feed my addiction.**_


	11. Beginning again

_**Sorry for the delay. Real life and other plot bunnies interrupted. **_

_**Disclaimer: Not owned by me, but I am holding out hope for the Charles & Elsie spin-off show.**_

Charles glared morosely at the small box on his desk while he nursed a mug of tea. He debated getting up to pour a healthy measure of brandy into his tea but decided that it would require too much effort. Then, he sneezed violently and thought he probably could excuse it as necessary medication. As he poured a splash of brandy, and then after consideration a second, larger one into his mug, he reflected on the events of the day.

It seemed that every possible circumstance was conspiring against his giving her this gift. The package had arrived with the morning post, and he had immediately sought her out with the intention of giving it to her right away. He had found her in the drawing room inspecting the drapery and remarkably alone. As he put his hand in his pocket to retrieve the small bit of jewelry, he had started the speech he had carefully prepared over the past few weeks, "Elsie, my dear, I would like-"

He had been cut off unceremoniously by a young maid rushing into the room seeking the housekeeper with a minor crisis. Elsie had given him a bemused smile, and he had shoved his hand back into his waistcoat pocket with a frustrated growl.

After several more false starts with multiple interruptions for both of them, he finally had another moment alone with her just before luncheon. He began again, "Elsie, you know now that I have lov-,"

He was thankfully warned by the piercing voice of Mrs. Patmore just before the door to Elsie's sitting room flew open and was able to recover his equilibrium just in time. While he wanted to lash out verbally at the cook, he contented himself with a stern glower. She did make a very good apple tart, after all.

During luncheon, the thought struck him that he might have a pressing errand in the village, and that even as cold as it was, Elsie might be persuaded to accompany him. As a matter of fact, perhaps they should just take tea at Mrs. Harrelson's shop. After all, with the Earl, his wife, and oldest daughter away it really didn't matter what time they returned. She readily agreed to his quiet suggestion and all was right with the world once again.

All was right with the world, that was, until he was helping Elsie into her coat. One of the under maids approached Elsie ringing her hands behind her back and with her head bowed begging her pardon but telling her the governess wished to see her. After a few minutes, Elsie had come back with an apologetic smile to explain that the governess had a headache, and she was needed to watch the young ladies for the afternoon. Unfortunately, he was already in his overcoat and by this point couldn't excuse himself from the errand that he had pretended was so urgent just a half hour before. Thus, he had had a long, cold, lonely walk into the village to fetch something that could easily have waited until another day.

He realized with a start that he had nearly emptied his mug while he was reviewing how horribly wrong his day had gone, and it seemed like a very good idea to fill it again with brandy and just a splash of tea. As he sipped the tea flavored brandy, he began to think that his day was not quite as bad as it could have been. After all, he was sitting here waiting for Elsie to finish comforting a homesick housemaid, and then they would have the rest of the evening to themselves since everyone else had retired for the night. He was also glad to finally be feeling warm after his long walk on a useless errand. As he finished the last of his mug, he realized that he was feeling very warm indeed and thought that he would close his eyes to rest for just a moment.

~C~C~E~

As sorry as she felt for the young lass who was far from home, Elsie was anxious to get her out of her sitting room and out of her hair. To that end, she had made her a warm cup of cocoa with just a thimble full of whiskey to calm her nerves. After the poor girl had shed a copious amount of tears, her eyes began to droop and her head began to sag. Elsie's glee was barely contained when she bundled the girl off to her bed. The source of Elsie's anxiety was just one thin wall away. Charles had seemed eager all day to speak to her, and her frustration had increased exponentially with each new interruption. Her curiosity over his eagerness had extended to the point that she had been willing to walk with him to the village on a December day in Yorkshire to find out what he wanted to speak to her about. Unfortunately, the governess had had yet another headache, and Charles had to stalk away on his errand alone, muttering something about 'blasted governesses needing to govern'. He had come back chilled to the bone and sequestered himself in his pantry until dinner. When dinner was finished she had invited him to her sitting room after he finished his evening rounds. As she might have expected, before he finished securing the upstairs, this lass had come in needing a shoulder to cry on. She shared his disappointment and frustration when he arrived at her door with a decanter of port and two glasses only to find her armchair already occupied.

Now, though, there was no one else to distract them. All the other servants had gone to their rooms, and they could talk without fear of being disturbed. Elsie sighed in satisfaction as she made her way to his door which was open just a fraction. She pushed her way inside and nearly growled in frustration at the sight which greeted her. Charles was sitting at his desk with his head resting at an awkward angle on his chest snoring none too softly. She stepped over to gently remove the mug from his hand and sniffed it experimentally. Brandy. Had he been that upset? Then he sneezed in his sleep, and she realized that the dear, sweet man had likely made himself sick with his trip to the village. She didn't have the heart at first to leave him, but when she tried to wake him, he only snored louder. After several attempts at rousing him, she brought a rug from her sitting room to cover his lap and jotted a quick note which she tucked in his waistcoat pocket. Then, she made her way to her own bed hoping they would have a chance to speak the next morning.

A scant quarter hour later found her in her nightdress plaiting her hair in front of the mirror and wondering why Charles had wanted to speak to her so urgently. She didn't have to wonder long, because the object of her thoughts burst through her door in a rush.

"Elsie," he began but she shushed him quickly and shut the door behind him.

"Charles Carson!" she hissed when she turned back to him with her hands on her hips, "What are you doing in my room? And at this hour?"

"I'm sorry," he said as though he'd just come to himself, "I shouldn't have come up. It's just that I needed to speak to you today, now."

She leaned back against the door with a sigh and said, "I had gathered that from the multiple times you tried to get me alone, including walking to the village in this freezing weather."

"Yes, well," he said, rubbing the top of one ear vigorously, "That was perhaps not the best idea I've ever had, but I was desperate." Then he glared at her accusingly, "If you knew I wanted to speak to you, why didn't you wake me?"

She gave him her best housekeeper glare, "I tried. You had too much to drink, I believe," then she narrowed her eyes at him, "Are you drunk?"

"I am not drunk!" he said, a little too loudly, and straightened to his full height. When she shushed him again with another glare, he conceded in a softer voice, "I admit to feeling a little fuzzy, but I am not drunk. It's just that I was very cold, and I had a bit of brandy to warm me."

"A bit," she scoffed.

"A bit!" he said with raised eyebrows for emphasis.

She softened and smiled at him, deciding that there was no point in arguing the point at this time of the night, "Charles, whatever you need to say to me, please say it so that we can both go to bed. It's been a very long and exhausting day."

"I, um," then his eyes widened as if he had just noticed that she was only wearing her nightdress. His voice was strangled when he asked, "That is, um, Elsie, do you think perhaps you could put on your dressing gown?"

His eyes were fixed on her chest, and she looked down to realize with a blush that her nightdress was worn thin and it was obviously very cold in her room. Not much was left to the imagination. Turning around quickly, she pulled her dressing gown down from the nail by the door and shrugged into it. When she turned back to him, he was blushing furiously, but he fixed his eyes on her face determinedly.

"Elsie, you know," he cleared his throat, "that is, you have read my letters so you have seen the drawing of my mother's brooch."

She nodded, curious now.

He licked his lips nervously and looked down at the floor for a moment before taking a deep breath and meeting her gaze once more, "You may have wondered why I did not offer you this brooch immediately once we'd, well, reunited."

"Charles, you are under no obligation to me," she said softly.

His gaze became fierce, "I beg your pardon, Elsie, but I am under every obligation to you. I have asked you to marry me. My offer has never been rescinded and to my knowledge you have accepted and not changed your mind. Have you?" His voice rose slightly on the last two words.

"No," she answered, now as breathless as he was.

He took a step toward her and reached into his waistcoat pocket, "I would have given this to you the day after our talk at Mr. Jerkyns's house, but I wanted to make a small addition to it."

She looked at his outstretched hand quizzically and saw the small brooch lying there. The luckenbooth was just as he'd drawn it except… What was that nestled between the hearts? There hadn't been a jewel on the drawing that he'd given her, and he'd been particularly insistent that it was just a simple silver brooch.

"Elsie, I hope you won't mind; that it won't be too much of a reminder to you," he said, and tears threatened as she guessed what he had done. He continued, "I felt that there should be some part of him, of Henry, in our future. I sent this to London weeks ago to have a garnet set on it. That would be his birthstone, would it not?"

She nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat, and he drew her into his arms. With her forehead pressed against his chest, she gathered her thoughts enough to say, "That was very thoughtful, Charles. Very thoughtful indeed. And worth spending the day waiting for it."

He chuckled softly and pressed his lips to the side of her head, "I don't know if it was worth a walk to the village in this weather."

"Especially since you had to go alone," she teased.

He snorted softly, "Don't remind me. I'm still trying to get completely warm."

"Perhaps this will help," she said and stretched up to press her lips to his. He drew her tight against him and deepened the kiss. The taste of brandy in his mouth was intoxicating, and she found herself getting nearly tipsy herself as she leaned closer to him. He stepped back after a moment, and she stood loosely encircled in his embrace.

"You should go," she whispered but made no move to step away from him or loosen her hold on his shoulders.

He agreed with a nod, "I should." But he made no further movement away from her. After a few more minutes of standing in each others' arms, he pulled away slightly. When he smiled at her soft whimper of disappointment, she made a mental note of his smugness but was too happy to chide him for it.

Looking down into her eyes, he said softly, "I just want to pin the luckenbooth on you. That is what I've been looking forward to doing all day."

She stepped back and loosened her dressing gown. If he was going to pin this on her, she wanted it on her nightdress so that she could wear it all night and dream of him. His sharp gasp repaid her for his earlier smugness. However, when his hands lingered for a moment on her breast after he'd placed the brooch there she found herself a little breathless as well.

She caught his hand in hers to tease it gently away from her breast and kissed his fingertips. "You really should go now."

He stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair. "What is the proper etiquette for leaving a lady's room? Should I see you safely to your bed?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"Charles," she warned, "you are playing with fire."

He nodded slowly and thoughtfully, "Perhaps, but I've been very cold today so a fire might be welcome."

She laughed at his mock seriousness and slipped the dressing gown completely off her shoulders. When she turned back to him, he lifted the covers for her to get into bed and then sat on the edge beside her once she was settled with blankets drawn up to her chin.

On a whim, she said, "Lie with me. Just for a little while."

He grumbled, "Now you are the one playing with fire, Elsie Hughes." But he lay down beside her, fully clothed and on top of the blankets, head resting on her shoulder while she played with his hair.

They lay quietly and his eyes drifted closed. Elsie was sure he was almost asleep when he murmured thickly, "I like your nightdress, by the way."

She clicked her tongue, "Oh, don't be silly. It's my oldest one. If I'd known you were going to barge into my room, I would have worn something else."

"All the better," he said through a yawn, eyes still closed, "it's what you'll wear every night when we're married. I can imagine you like this."

"I wouldn't wear it every night," she said thoughtfully, "not in summer for instance."

"Mmmm. You have a summer nightdress, then?" his voice was getting thicker and thicker with sleep.

"I do," she said, "But I think when we're married, I would wear naught to bed in summer."

His eyes popped open, and he fell off the bed with a thud. He stood up quickly, eyes still wide, and said, "I think I should leave now."

She sat up with the blankets drawn to her chest and nodded, "Good night, then, future husband."

"Good night, then, future wife," he smiled at her before opening the door and slipping out.

She smiled to herself as she watched him leave. She couldn't think of another path she would want to be on.

_**Reviews are welcome as always and feed my addiction.**_


	12. Desire

_**Sorry for the delay. Laziness and the last busy days of summer before sending kids back to school are my excuses.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own them. I earn nothing from them but pleasure. **_

Elsie sat down for just a moment and flexed her feet in her shoes. They were sore both from her busy day and from the footmen and hall boys treading on them all night. She supposed the servants' ball was a good idea, but she really wished that Charles would take the time to ensure that some of his charges were a little lighter on their feet, or at least lighter on hers. Shaking her head, she rose and started to fill a tray with empty glasses and plates. It would be best if these were already in the scullery for the maids tomorrow morning. She also felt the need to keep her mind occupied with something other than this morning's events and her expectations for this evening. She fingered the brooch on her chest which had been a source of frustration this morning and thought about their plans for the night.

Something had been building between them in the weeks since he'd given her the luckenbooth. The something had been becoming progressively more apparent with each passing day. She could feel his eyes follow her when she passed the door of his pantry. When they sat together in the evenings his leg rested warmly against hers, and his kisses lingered longer on her lips. Parting at night had grown difficult to the point of being painful. Still, though, he sent her off to her own bed at night and made no offer to join her or to encourage her to join him. And though he had assured her that he still wanted to marry her, there had been no mention of a date. She began to wonder. It had been nearly fifteen years after all. Perhaps he no longer desired her or wanted her in the same way that she desired and wanted him.

This morning she had finally had enough. She had turned to him at the breakfast only to find his eyes fixed on her chest. When she shifted slightly to distract him, he had fixed his eyes on his porridge for the remainder of the meal but had nudged her under the table. Every inch of her wanted to scream in frustration, and she was filled with an almost overwhelming surge of desire for him. Her dreams had kept the memory of his touch vibrant in her mind. She knew exactly how the knee pressed against hers felt when pushing her legs apart, how the hands that gripped his spoon could set her skin on fire just by ghosting over it, and especially, she knew how the lips that sipped his tea felt covering her body in moist caresses. It was time to take care of this something that was between them, one way or the other. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for action. Then, as casually as she could manage she hooked her foot around his ankle and stroked the back of his calf lightly. That he was affected was apparent by the pause his spoon made in its journey to his mouth. He glanced at her sideways, and then she knew he read her feelings in her eyes because he set his spoon down quickly and dropped his napkin into his lap.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Patmore noticed something was amiss as well because she asked, "Is something wrong with your porridge, Mr. Carson?"

"Hmm, what?" he asked in surprise, "No, not at all, I just…"

"Perhaps you just need a bit more sugar," she cut him off, "I told Ellen that she didn't put enough in. Mrs. Hughes, could you give Mr. Carson more sugar?"

Elsie turned to Charles with the slightest of smiles and added two more spoonfuls of sugar to his porridge although she knew he already had at least four in it. He met her gaze with grim defiance and spooned his by now overly sweet, even for him, porridge into his mouth. She looked down at her own bowl to hide her smile at his short nod of thanks for her and Mrs. Patmore.

When the bells began to ring later and everyone hurried off to their tasks leaving them alone for a moment at the table, he leaned toward her and asked in an undertone, "May I ask what is on your mind?"

"You may," she answered, caressing his calf with her foot again and daring to let her hand rest just above his knee, "but I believe it would be better answered while we are alone."

"I see," he said, voice rising slightly in pitch as he shifted his leg away from her, "Then perhaps, after breakfast…"

"You'll come to my parlor," she finished for him decisively.

"I will?" he asked, meeting her gaze with surprise and then nodded, "I will."

She rose from the table and busied herself with her morning tasks, waiting anxiously for him to be finished with serving breakfast. By the time that he rapped on her door post, she was sitting at her desk working through orders for the upcoming week and questioning her boldness.

He entered at her invitation and shut the door behind him with exaggerated care. Before she could rise from her chair, he had crossed to her and pulled her to her feet and against his chest, covering her lips with his. After a long exploration of her lips, he trailed kisses along her jaw to the spot behind her left ear and destroyed her ability to think clearly. She swayed on her feet and clutched at his shoulders to balance herself. He tightened his hold on her, and she felt the evidence of his desire pressed against her stomach.

She couldn't prevent the thought that entered her mind from escaping her lips, "Thank God."

Surprised, he pulled back and looked at her with eyebrows raised. She answered the question in his gaze but dropped her eyes to his shoulder, "I thought you didn't desire me anymore."

He barked an incredulous laugh, "Not desire you? What would have given you that idea? We've been together nearly every night."

"But not _together_, Charles," she explained, looking back into his eyes, "You've made no mention of anything more."

He dropped his hands to his sides, and his eyebrows drew together, "You have my mother's brooch. You know how I feel about you."

"I do," she said, nodding and hands automatically clasping in front of her, "and I know that we will marry someday, but I wasn't sure if you wanted more now and there's been no mention of a date. You've been a perfect gentleman."

His lips quirked into a half smile, "And you'd prefer a little more of a perfect rogue?"

"Perhaps just a little," she said, returning his smile.

The smile faded from his lips, and he rubbed the top of his ear vigorously, "Elsie, I, um, that is, one of the reasons that I've not…," he paused and took a deep breath, "Elsie, I've changed. I'm not a young man anymore. I've put on a couple of stone…"

His voice trailed off, and she watched him incredulously, "That is why you've not been more," she paused herself to find the right word, "eager?"

"Yes, and, well, to be frank it has been quite a while," he answered, tugging at his collar, eyes fixed on the wall just above her right shoulder.

"A while?" She watched him carefully.

A muscle twitched in his cheek before he sighed and answered her question, "Come May 1st, it will have been sixteen years."

"Oh," this fact surprised her enough that she felt the need to sit down and did.

"Elsie," he said, "surely it's not that shocking."

"But you were…, before we met you were…," she trailed off not quite sure what to say he was.

"A rogue?" he asked.

She shook her head, "I'll never believe you were really that, but you weren't as pure as the driven snow either."

He knelt beside her chair to meet her at eye level, "Elsie, love, whatever I was looking for before that trip, I found with you. No one else could ever match you."

She could think of nothing else to do or say than take his face in her hands and say, "Dear, sweet man."

He leaned forward to kiss her softly on the lips, and then rose after a moment pulling her to her feet with him. "April 23rd"

"Beg pardon?," she asked, looking at him in confusion.

"We'll be married on April 23rd. The family is away that week, and that will give us some time away alone before the Season. I want to be able to write you this year as a husband writing to his wife and not a butler to his housekeeper."

How he could go from making her want to kiss him senseless to box him around the ears in less than five seconds was amazing. She repeated flatly, "April 23rd. And did you intend to consult me about this date or just drag me by the hair to the registrar's office?"

His confusion was apparent when he said, "Of course I meant to inform you of the date. I looked at my diary and knowing what the plans of the house are it makes the most sense…"

"What makes the most sense, Charles Carson," she cut him off sharply, "is to ask your future wife what day she would like to be married."

Proving that he wasn't quite as dense as she was coming to fear, he asked, "Would April 23rd be an agreeable day for you to make me your husband and the happiest man in England?"

She sniffed, not quite ready to concede yet, "Possibly, I shall have to consult my calendar. Are we to remain chaste until then?"

His face turned crimson, and he tugged at his collar, "No, I had thought that sooner or later we would…"

"That is good," she said a little too quickly.

He grinned too knowingly for her taste, "I take it you would prefer sooner rather than later?"

She laughed, "Charles, I think fifteen years will always be considered later."

He fixed his eyes on hers, "For you as well, then?"

She nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at him sharply, she asked, "And if it were not for me?"

He looked at the floor for another long moment, and she watched the muscle in his jaw twitch repeatedly before he answered softly, "I would have had no right to expect anything, but I would hate every man that ever touched you." Then he lifted flashing eyes to meet hers, "And that would be one more thing stolen from us."

She sighed but didn't want to rehash that argument right now. "What do you propose to do about my need?"

He swallowed hard, anger obviously forgotten, "Your need?"

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves before her next confession, "Charles, for fifteen years my only release has been to think of you and lately I've thought of you much more often."

"Lately?" he asked, smile playing around his lips. Of course he knew what she was implying, frustratingly lovely man that he was.

She averted her eyes, "Your letters from London were wonderful."

"I never would have thought I was that good of a writer," he quipped, and she started to turn completely away. He caught her hands and stopped her.

"So that means that while I was in my lonely bedroom in London or here thinking of you that you…"

She nodded, the thought making her mouth go suddenly dry and other parts grow moist, "I was in my lonely bedroom thinking of you."

His voice sounded hoarse with his next words, "Perhaps even at the very same time."

"Possibly," she agreed and that thought caused her breathing to quicken even more. When she met his eyes, she noticed the sheen of perspiration on his upper lip and darkened eyes. Her mind raced as she tried to remember exactly how many people were little more than a thin wall away. He took a step back first and looked almost desperately around her room, eyes latching on the carafe of water on her side table. Crossing to it in two long strides, he poured a glass of water and drank it gratefully.

She smiled at him, tension broken for the moment, "Help yourself."

His grin was positively predatory, "I intend to. Tonight."

"Tonight?" she asked in surprise, "Charles tonight is the servants' ball. We'll be tired. It's hardly the best…"

He cut her off with a glare and upraised eyebrows, "You should have thought about that before you started your seduction at the breakfast table. I've been near the breaking point for two months now. That, at breakfast, with your foot on my leg and the look in your eyes…" He gestured with his free hand, "I'm not entirely sure I can even make it to tonight."

She blushed, "It will be a long servants' ball."

He nodded, set his glass down on the table, and then walked out of the room with a backward glance filled with promise.

She sighed and picked up the glass he'd just set down and poured herself a glass of water from the carafe. Touching her lips to the same spot where his had rested, she took a long sip and started to plan.

**_~C~E~C~_**

Charles made his way through the upstairs rooms one more time to ensure that all candles were out and rooms properly shut. He walked silently past the young ladies' rooms and was satisfied that no light spilled out from under their doors. Then he made his way to the corridor passing the Earl's and his wife's rooms. Not unusually, there were soft sounds coming from her Ladyship's room which he was usually able to ignore. Tonight, however, the rhythmic sounds that he heard only heightened his need to get back to Elsie. His steps quickened for a moment before he forced himself to slow down. He couldn't be negligent of his duties in his eagerness to really begin his night.

This day had been one of the longest of his life. There had been the need for two brisk walks around the courtyard without his overcoat to cool his thoughts. This ball had seemed to be even longer than the day. He had even added more spirits to the punch than usual in the hopes of inducing sleep. His plan had of course misfired as everyone simply seemed to have a better time and one of the footmen had been especially gregarious. Charles had glared at him while he danced for the third time with Elsie and planned his revenge for the following day; there were a few particularly intricate pieces of silver with multiple sharp edges that needed careful going over. Finally, the ball ended almost abruptly with the Earl and his wife retiring eagerly to bed as soon as the Dowager Countess had been seen into the waiting car. When Charles glanced at the clock, he saw that the ball had really ended no later than usual. Remembering the look in Elsie's eyes when he met them across the diminishing crowd caused his heart to race, and he decided that the house was surely secure enough as he picked up his pace to meet her in the ball room but was disappointed to find that she was not there.

As he made his way down the servants' staircase, he heard her humming a familiar tune. He walked into the scullery to see that she was removing plates and glasses carefully from a tray and hadn't heard his approach. For the briefest moment, he allowed himself the fantasy that this was their kitchen, in their home and that he was returning to her after checking on their children one last time and ensuring that their home was secure. Shaking his head to dispel the thought, he crossed the room to stand behind her and put his hands on her waist, leaning down to sing the words of the tune she was humming in her ear:

_One night she came to my bedside_  
_When I was fast asleep._  
_She laid her head upon my bed_  
_And she began to weep._  
_She sighed, she cried, she nearly died_  
_She said what shall I do?_  
_So I hauled her into bed and covered up her head_  
_Just to keep her from the foggy foggy dew._

She leaned back against his chest and covered his large hands with her smaller ones. He turned her in his arms and began to sway to the music that was in his head and heart, pressing her head down to his chest. After a few moments of simply enjoying the feeling of holding her in his arms, he asked softly, "Shall I?"

"Protect me from the foggy, foggy dew?" she asked.

His fingers tightened on hers pleased that she remembered, and he nodded against the soft hair his cheek was resting on.

She answered him by squeezing his fingers in return, "Please do."

He stopped dancing and stepped away but kept his hold on her hand to pull her toward the servants' stairs. She stopped him with a tug and indicated the back stairs which would lead to the larger bedrooms. "I have something prepared."

"Something?" he asked, amazed at how she could always manage to surprise him.

"Somewhere. The room at the end of the men's hall," she said, eyes meeting his without any shyness.

He nodded thoughtfully. It was the room furthest from the servants' hall and the family; a wise choice. Of course, she was probably the only person who knew every room in this house. The fantasy of making love to her in every room of this very large house flashed through his mind. There had to be at least one hundred rooms. Then, he wondered if perhaps some of the closets would be large enough as well.

"Take me where you will," he said, and she led him on a path he'd wanted to take for years.

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_


	13. Everything

_**The promised chapter of smut. Probably pushes the T-ness a bit. Mature people doing mature people things. If you don't like that, please stop now and wait for the next chapter.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them and never will. I've been looking into a rental program, but I doubt I could afford that either.**_

Charles followed Elsie up the stairs, enjoying the view on the way. He was reminded vividly of the first time he'd met her. He had followed her up a flight of stairs then as well. Slipping his arm around her waist, he shocked her by pulling her back against his chest, smiling at her gasp.

"Do you remember the first time I followed you up stairs?" he rumbled quietly next to her ear.

She nodded and he could feel her smile against his cheek, "I thought you were a handsome man and a flirt."

"You thought I was handsome?" he asked in surprise, "I thought you hated me."

"That didn't come until you asked for a bed warmer," she said, looking at him sharply, "And I didn't hate you. I just thought you were that sort, and I didn't want to encourage you."

He had the good grace to feel a little chagrined. "You certainly didn't encourage me, but I didn't mean any harm. I was just trying to…"

"Get a leg over?" she asked, lifting her eyebrow at him in amusement.

He cleared his throat and released her, "Perhaps we should go on."

"We should," she nodded and started back up the stairs. He did notice a bit more sway to her hips though.

They were soon at the door of the room Elsie had appropriated for the night, and Charles waited while she found the key expertly from the multitude at her waist. Once inside, she turned to lock the door while he used the moonlight spilling through the window to locate the candle and matches on the bedside table. He turned slowly to look around the room and appreciate what she had done. There were candles here and a carafe of water on the table by the door. His cheeks heated at the sight of the bed already turned down. Letting his eyes complete their circuit of the room, he almost jumped when he realized that Elsie had moved to stand beside him.

"Preparing for something, were you?" he asked, smile tugging at his lips.

"Charles; is there any need to pretend why we are here?" she asked seriously.

He lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement of her wisdom, "No, we don't need to pretend. It's a little different than our first time together, though."

She nodded, "We're a little different as well."

"We are," he agreed, feeling the need to apologize once again, "Elsie, I'm sorry that I'm not the man that I was. I wish I was still that handsome young valet."

She pressed the tips of her fingers to his lips, "I think I prefer my handsome, mature butler. Don't forget that I am older too. I'm not the young lass I was."

Kissing her fingers before he removed them from his lips, he said, "No; you are not. You are the woman I've grown to love all over again."

She stepped into his arms and smiled against his chest, "Even after all I thought you'd done, all the hurt, all the anger; I still found myself drawn to you after I came to Downton."

"Mmmmm," he began to sway gently with her in his arms to the music he always heard when she was with him, "I think I began to allow myself to see you differently that first May Day. You probably didn't know this, but I hadn't been to the village celebration for twelve years. It would have been too much to bear. I always volunteered to stay behind, and that year I only went to see how you'd behave. I'll admit that part of me wanted you to feel guilty for what I thought you'd done, but when I saw you there, on that night of all nights, the memories wouldn't stay away. You danced just enough to be polite, then as you left that man tried to grab you." His arm tightened reflexively around her.

"You were watching me that closely?" she asked and then answered her own question, "I suppose you must have been to come to my rescue just when I needed you."

"Elsie, I'm not sure how many hours have gone by since you came to Downton that I haven't had at least a vague sense of where you were and what you were doing," he answered seriously.

"It became easier for me after the first few months," she whispered softly into his chest, "Until…"

"Until I took you with me to meet Mr. Jerkyns," he finished for her.

She leaned back to look in his eyes, "Was I that obvious?"

"No; I knew because that's when I couldn't stop thinking of you," he answered, leaning down to brush his lips across hers, "Before that, with great effort, I could push most of my feelings for you aside. When you started to go with me to see him, I could imagine what we might have been like; visiting him, maybe taking our children…" He broke off, not wanting to think about what could have been tonight.

"Charles, if things had gone differently, then our lives would be different," she said, needing to get this settled between them, "but we need to be content with what we have, what we _can_ have, not worry about what we can't."

"I am," he said, stopping his slow dance and lifting his hand to her cheek, "but I can't help thinking about what might have been at times. It doesn't make what we have now less for me, though. It makes it even more precious."

She smiled and turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand, "We can talk about it. You don't have to cut yourself off every time you think of it."

He traced her lips with his thumb, fascinated by the softness, "Let's not worry about talking too much right now. Let's think about what we can do for tonight."

His voice trailed off as he bent to meet her lips and there was no softness this time. It had been no lie when he said that he had been near the breaking point for the last two months. With great effort, he tried to hold himself back, but then he felt her tongue against his lips begging for entrance, and he realized that she wanted this almost as much as he did. Her hands tangled in the curls on the back of his neck to draw him closer, and the thought flashed through his mind that she might want it more.

_**~C~C~E~**_

Elsie reached for Charles's tie and was frustrated when he stilled her hand. She pulled reluctantly away from his lips to say, "Charles, all those years ago you wanted to take your time to build memories because we'd be apart. Now we're together again. I don't want to take time."

He nodded and released her hand, allowing her hand to work at his tie while he whispered against her forehead, "Elsie, darling Scottish lass, if you're too eager, I won't be able to hold back. Do as you like for now, but if you don't let me take the lead later, you won't get as much pleasure from this as I will."

She had his tie loose but was frustrated by his collar, "These things haven't gotten any easier, have they? Charles, I think you underestimate how frustrated I've been, but it's no matter. If I don't get the same pleasure tonight, there's always tomorrow night and the next night and the next ni…"

He cut her off with a low groan and a deep, hungry kiss. When he had finished, he fixed her with a glare and reached up to unbutton and remove his collar, "Talk like that is not going to help me hold back."

She stretched up to soothe the irritated skin of his neck with her lips, "Is your collar still this bothersome?"

His voice rumbled next to her ear and she could feel the vibration against her lips sending heat down to her very core, "I've missed this treatment. Is your corset still as bothersome? I've not forgotten how to take care of that."

She stopped her attentions to his neck for a moment as she remembered just how and where he'd kissed her to 'treat her' for her bothersome corset. That night had replayed itself so many times in her dreams that every moment was burned into her memory. Charles straightened to look at her with concern, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no," she answered, pulling his head back down so that she could reach his neck again, "It's just that I was remembering how your lips, your hands, your everything felt that night."

"My everything?" he asked, and she could hear his smile, "I don't think I've ever heard it called that before. I've heard co…"

It was her turn to cut him off with a kiss, but he just continued, smiling, "And no…"

She cut him off with another kiss, and when she broke away he said, "And di…"

This time she kissed him longer and harder and when she pulled away she said, "Charles Carson, your mouth!"

"You seem to be making good use of it," he observed, "Elsie, love, if you want to discourage me, you're going to have to come up with a better way."

She pressed tight against him and felt him hard against her belly, "Maybe I should just try to distract you."

He groaned when she ground against him and said breathlessly, "My everything is pretty distracted now."

"That's good," she said, stretching up to capture his lips again. His hands were around her in an instant, working at her buttons. Her dress was loosened and ready to let fall to the floor by the time she pulled back.

"It's good that I'm distracted or that felt good?" he asked, while he stepped back to allow her dress to fall and watch her push his jacket off his shoulders.

He shrugged out of his jacket and then reached for her corset. When the first hook was released, she watched his eyes darken as they fixed on her chest. He worked the second hook free easily but then his fingers fumbled with the third, and she saw a thin sheen of perspiration on his upper lip.

She took his hands in hers and spoke softly with the teasing tone gone from her voice, "Would you like me to take care of the rest?"

He nodded slowly and stepped back to watch in awe as she released each hook. She was almost equal parts embarrassed and triumphant at the look on his face. As she took care of her corset, his hands worked quickly at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. When she let her corset fall to the floor, he pulled his shirt and waistcoat off then reached to pull her into his arms. She pressed against him again, frustrated by the clothes that were still in the way, and his hands roamed over her shoulders and back to the hem of her shift which he inched up over her hip. His hand found the ribbon of her knickers easily, and he loosened it with a quick tug.

When she reached for the waistband of his trousers, his hand covered hers. She lifted her eyebrows at him in disappointed question, and he released her hand and said, "Go ahead, but I don't know how much more my everything can stand."

She took his warning to heart and carefully pushed his trousers to the floor, stretching her hands around his waist and avoided brushing the member that was straining at his undershorts.

As she stood, her breath ghosted over the bulge, and his breath caught sharply. His voice was hoarse on his next words, "Elsie, this is the time you should let me take over. Why don't you just lie down?"

Before she lay down, she turned from him and put each foot on the bed in turn to remove her shoes. He groaned again and looked away so that he could remove his own shoes. By the time he'd finished and turned back to her, she had her shift over her head and was slipping between the sheets.

She watched him curiously as he finished removing his trousers and then, after just a moment's hesitation, his vest and undershorts. She studied his body frankly in the flickering candlelight. He had gained weight, but he carried it well with his broad shoulders and large frame. In a way, he looked more balanced now. The hair in the middle of his chest was dusted with grey now and her fingers itched to feel it. Her eyes traveled lower to the narrow 'V' of hair below his navel leading downward still to the wiry hair below his waist. His member twitched at her perusal, and she looked up to meet concerned eyes.

"Do I pass inspection?" he asked, light tone betraying his worry.

She smiled and lifted the sheet to welcome him into the bed, "I like everything that I see, especially your everything."

"Thank goodness," he said, sliding into the bed and her arms, "I don't think I could stop now."

She sighed at the feel of his lips on her neck, hands on his waist, and 'everything' pushed against her hip. A soft laugh escaped at the thought, and he hesitated for a moment, "Elsie, that's not really something a man wants to hear at this point."

"I was just thinking about asking you tomorrow how 'everything' was," she said, pushing the hair off his forehead.

He laughed as well and said, "Well, for right now, I think 'everything' needs some attention, and I'm going to need your help to get 'everything' taken care of."

"Surely anyone could help you with everything," she said, teasing.

He shook his head, "No, I think you are definitely the only one who can take care of everything properly."

She laughed, and he rolled her to her back, covering her lips with his. His hand trailed down her abdomen and below the edge of her knickers to push them off. They caught, and he pushed at them in frustration. She lifted her hips to help him but still heard the sound of tearing fabric. "I'm sorry," he mumbled against her lips, "I'll buy you new ones."

She didn't answer because her mind was too occupied with the feel of his fingers between her folds, circling and stroking the small nub that only her hand had touched for the last fifteen years. A gasp escaped her lips as the thought flitted through her mind of how different his larger, stronger hand felt there. His lips trailed from hers down to her breasts, and he drew first one nipple then the other into his mouth, matching the circles and strokes that his fingers were making with swirls and nips of his tongue and teeth. He brought her to the very edge of release, trembling against his hand.

His fingers stopped their teasing abruptly, and she was ready to beg for more when he lifted over her to push himself inside. The feel of him stretching her and filling her pushed her over the edge, and she was panting his name, lost in the waves of pleasure she was feeling when he began to thrust inside her. She knew he must have been at the breaking point, because he it took only a few minutes before he was stiffening against her and crying out against her cheek.

He rolled to the side and drew her against his chest. Her hand played with the hair there while they both caught their breath. His hand stroked the edge of her shoulder blade, and she reached down to pull the blankets over them, the sheen of sweat chilling her now.

"I hope everything was to your satisfaction, love," he said, pausing between words to breathe.

"Everything was wonderful," she sighed, snuggling closer.

"I think everything will take a little longer next time," he said, a chuckle rumbling through his chest.

"That would be good," she said smiling, "I will be happy to help you take care of everything anytime you should need me."

"I will take you up on that offer, my beloved future wife," he said, drawing her impossibly closer to his chest.

"And I, my future husband," she said, "am very happy with the path my life is on."

_**Reviews are welcome as always. Even more so because smut makes me nervous. Banter is easier.**_


	14. A Discussion

_**Sorry that it's been a while since I updated this, but I've let myself be distracted. There is only one more chapter to go after this one. Thank you for sticking with me.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own them. If I did they'd make up in the blue bedroom after every fight.**_

Elsie gnawed on the end of her pencil, unable to concentrate on the invoices. She should probably check on the progress of the laundry maids or perhaps the scullery maids, but she didn't dare be away from her sitting room when Charles came for her. He had slipped down while the family was in the midst of breakfast to inform her that his Lordship wished to speak with both of them immediately following his meal. He had no idea what the reason was for the request and had to return before they could speculate. She was left alone to worry about the summons and couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. It was her Ladyship that should be discussing household matters with them, and it was rare that both of them would be needed. Her thoughts raced over their activities of the past couple of months. Was it possible that Charles and she had been found out? She thought they'd been excessively careful. Far more careful than they had been years ago, but still, it was possible that Charles or she had been wanted at just the wrong time. Glancing up at the clock she saw that time was now apparently standing still because she was certain that the minute hand had not moved from the time Charles had spoken to her until now.

Finally after what seemed an eternity of waiting, Charles rapped on her parlor door and leaned in to speak to her, "His Lordship will see us now in his study."

She stood and took a deep breath, smoothing her hand over the front of her dress and touching the familiar weight of the keys at her side. Charles gave her a reassuring smile that she tried to return. At least this time, no matter what might happen, neither of them would allow a separation to occur again. She knew beyond any doubt that she had loved, did love, and would love only this man. What's more, she knew that he felt the same for her. The security of knowing that fact gave her complete and total peace. They had survived the worst that life could bring them and still had found love with each other again. A mere job would never be enough to cause them harm.

She followed Charles up the stairs, but he stopped at the top and caught her hand to draw her to his side. He watched her anxiously for a moment, "I don't know what his Lordship wishes to speak with us about, but I do want to tell him that we intend to be married."

"Do you think that is really for the best?" she asked, still wondering what kind of work they would be able to find and mentally reviewing her meager savings once again.

"Else, I've already made the appointment with the registrar," he answered patiently, "For the best or the worst, it's time. I do think it would be for the worst to try to keep this secret."

"I trust you," she said simply and squeezed his hand warmly

Charles opened the door to the study and bowed to allow Elsie to enter before him. She felt his knuckles brush the back of her hand as she passed.

They crossed together to stand before the desk where Lord Grantham was reviewing his correspondence. He glanced up to acknowledge their presence briefly and then returned to the letter he was reading. Taking the time to finish, he sighed deeply, folded the letter and laid it carefully on the desk before him. Elsie knew this trick well. She had used it herself to put young housemaids on edge before taking them to task. It was surprisingly effective, and she found her nervousness increasing exponentially as she waited. Just when she was ready to break down and confess to every wrong she'd ever done including the apples she'd stolen from a neighbor's yard when she was seven to all the details of every encounter with Charles for the past few months, his Lordship spoke.

"Mrs. Hughes, you worked at Holbrook House at one point, I believe," he said.

It was not a question, but Elsie answered anyway, "Yes, sir, many years ago."

"I remember meeting you there," he said, smiling gently, "I believe my valet introduced us."

She could barely keep her mouth from gaping. He had given no indication over the four years that she had worked here that he remembered that time. She had been sure that it was such a minor encounter for him that he had put it completely out of his mind. A quick glance at Charles told her that he had thought the same thing.

Charles spoke, "That is correct, sir, but I fail to see…"

Lord Grantham cut him off with a wave of his hand, "Carson, did you really think I would forget your maid 'with the Scottish accent and temper to match'? Sometimes I think everyone believes I am a complete idiot."

There was really nothing to say at that point so they both remained silent with their gazes fixed forward.

He sighed heavily and rose, walking to the window and looking out for a moment before turning back to them. "I did not mention our previous meeting before, because until recently I did not believe that it mattered," here he paused for a moment and then fixed his gaze on Elsie, "Did you come here because of Carson?"

She made a decision in that moment. If she was going to be sacked anyway, she would not cower. Turning her eyes to meet his squarely, she said, "I did not, sir. When I came, I did not know that he was here."

"And once you knew?" he asked, not turning his eyes from hers.

Her gaze faltered for a moment as she remembered those first months. Her voice wavered slightly, but she doubted that anyone but Charles could have made it out, "I decided to remain despite his presence."

His Lordship lifted his eyebrow at her choice of words, "Despite?"

Charles broke in at this point and stepped forward slightly, almost imperceptivity inserting himself between Lord Grantham and herself. She smiled inwardly despite the tense situation. He really was going to have to get over this protective streak. "Sir, there were things that happened years ago that caused a separation between Mrs. Hughes and myself. Blame was placed unfairly."

Lord Grantham looked up sharply, "But that is no longer the case."

Charles hesitated for the barest moment, "No, sir, it is not."

"How long?" he asked quietly but in a voice that would allow for no dissembling.

"Just over five months, sir," Charles responded, squaring his shoulders as well.

His Lordship gave a quick nod, "Just before Christmas, then. I thought so. What do you intend to do now?"

Charles glanced at her for the briefest moment, seeking her permission. She inclined her head slightly to grant it and he said, "We intend to be married, sir. I believe I spoke to you about that many years ago."

"You did," he said, "but then you were a valet. Now you are a butler."

"Yes, sir," Charles said and Elsie could hear pain in his voice. He would be devastated to leave Downton after everything the family had done for his mother and Mr. Jerkyns.

His Lordship continued as though he hadn't heard him, "A married butler and housekeeper is quite a different thing. It's not unheard of at a country house, but it has never happened at Downton."

Elsie couldn't tear her eyes away from Charles and the muscle that tensed in his jaw. His hands clenched behind his back.

"I see, sir," Charles was saying quietly, "I shall place advertisements right away."

"Advertisements? For what?" Lord Grantham asked, surprised.

Charles looked at him patiently, "For replacements, sir."

"I don't see that we need to resort to that," he said, looking at Charles sternly.

Charles continued to explain patiently, "If you don't wish me to advertise then I shall begin inquiries among some of my acquaintances. Perhaps they will know of someone suitable. I'm sure Mrs. Hughes can do the same."

"No," Lord Grantham said, "I don't think you need to make inquiries. I'm sure that suitable replacements will present themselves given time. Until then, Mrs. Hughes and you can continue in your current positions."

"But she will not be Mrs. Hughes," Charles said tightly, and Elsie could see his shoulders stiffen and sense the tenseness indicating that he was about to lose his temper, "A date has been set."

Lord Grantham faced Charles squarely at this point, "Mr. Carson, you know as well as I do that appearances are the most important thing at a home like Downton. I would never wish it to appear that I have a married butler and housekeeper, but I see no reason that things can't continue, with some minor changes perhaps."

Elsie spoke now, not fully trusting Charles to moderate his tones, "Sir, do I understand that you would wish us to continue here as butler and housekeeper, but not change the date of our marriage?"

"I would never ask you to change a date as important as that, Mrs. Hughes," Lord Grantham said quietly, "but I am asking that you remain here until suitable replacements are found. I would prefer if you retain the fiction of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson until we find those replacements." He fixed both of them with a steady, knowing look before continuing in a lighter tone, "I must say, though, that you do a poor job of hiding your feelings. All the girls think you've been secretly in love for ages."

Charles spoke carefully then, and Elsie was grateful to see that his tone was calm and even, "You do not wish us to delay our wedding. You do wish us to remain until suitable replacements are found, but you do not wish us to advertise or make inquiries to find suitable replacements."

"An excellent summary, Carson," Lord Grantham said dryly, "I'm glad to see that we fully understand each other."

Charles was speechless and surprised enough that it showed. Then Lord Grantham stepped a little closer to speak in a stage whisper intended primarily for Charles but which Elsie overheard easily, "Next time you wish to secretly marry my housekeeper, please do remember that I have friends in Ripon. I am the local magistrate, after all."

Charles reddened and nodded slowly. Lord Grantham stepped back and addressed them both, "The family will be away beginning two weeks from Tuesday. I am sure that you, Mrs. Hughes, would like to visit family, and Carson, I trust you have someone or other you could arrange to visit as well. That should fit with your date nicely."

They spoke together, "Yes, sir, of course. Thank you."

"Very well, then, you are excused."

_**~C~C~E~**_

Charles opened the door for Elsie and followed her down the stairs in a daze. As he reviewed the conversation they'd just had with their employer, he tried to convince himself that it wasn't all a dream. They could be married and remain here. His Lordship had known of their renewed relationship almost from the first it seemed. Charles blushed as he hoped that he hadn't guessed the extent of their renewed relationship. He doubted his Lordship would be quite as forgiving if he knew that Charles was determined to work his way methodically through every room in the house, and a few of the closets. Considering how well his Lordship had treated them, he almost felt a little guilty about that plan. Almost. A smile threatened to break through, and he forced his face into a stern mask. Elsie guided him wordlessly to her sitting room and shut the door firmly behind him.

He caught her in his arms and lifted her to his lips in pure joy; his future wife and his always love. There would be nothing to separate them now. She smiled against his lips and laughed into his mouth. He pulled his head back to look at her questioningly. She answered his look, "He knew. We've been trying to be so careful and all this time he knew."

He narrowed his eyes at her and inclined his head, "Perhaps. Or perhaps he found out about our appointment with the registrar and thought back over the past few months."

"Mmmm," she hummed in agreement and laid her head on his shoulder, "Odd that he remembered that one meeting from so long ago."

"Well," Charles smiled against her forehead, "I did talk about you quite a bit and inquire regarding his views on married servants. As he pointed out, he is not a complete idiot."

"I don't know that I care what he is as long as we can be together," she whispered, tightening her hold on his waist.

Charles started to think of practical matters. "You'll need a bigger bed."

"Why will we use my room?" she asked, "Yours is bigger."

"You'll need to stay on the women's hall to protect your girls from dangerous influences," he said, teasing.

"Like you?" she asked, teasing tone evident.

"I have no desire to influence any woman but one, and I have no doubt she will keep me very busy; exhausted in fact," he sighed.

"Speaking of that one woman," she said, teasing tone slipping from her voice, "where did 'Scottish accent and temper to match' come from?"

He released her and stepped back toward the door, plotting an escape, "Now, Elsie, you'll admit you were a bit sharp with me at first."

"Only because you were a bit fresh with me," she said, eyes narrowing dangerously.

He put his hand on the doorknob, "A bit. Um, I think that I need to check the wines for tonight. I'm not sure if I've done the pairings yet."

"We'll have to discuss this later," she said as he opened the door to step out.

Not wanting to let her have the last word, he shut the door firmly again and leaned down to kiss her thoroughly, "We will discuss this later, and I will show you just how fresh I can still be."

He stepped out before she could answer and knew that he would have a Scottish temper to soothe tonight thankfully accompanied by that delightful accent as well. Somehow the path he was about to take seemed like the most exciting thing in the world.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	15. Setting things right

_**I've allowed myself to be distracted by the new series, but I'm getting back into this AU for one or two more chapters. I'm not going to promise an end because each time I do that, C/E send me down another path. I hope to finish it with the next chapter, though.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them and never will. I do love to play with them and promise to send them back when I'm finished with them. Maybe.**_

**Scarborough, April 24, 1906**

Charles felt a small head snuggle closer to his side as he slept and the scent of lavender and lemons filled his lungs as he took a deep, sighing breath. This dream had repeated itself so often in his mind that he instinctively tightened his arm around her shoulders drawing her even closer to his side before she disappeared and he woke alone once again. He could feel her breath brushing the hairs on his chest and squeezed his eyes tighter shut so that he could cling to this dream for as long as possible.

A strong leg was thrown over his hip, and his body responded quickly. His eyes slowly opened as it dawned on him that this dream was not the same one he'd been having for the past twenty years. Looking down into the smiling eyes of Elsie Carson, he felt the inside of her knee brush across his member and noticed that her smile was turning wicked.

"You woke me from a lovely dream," he grumbled, lifting his hand to caress her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple in slow circles.

"I did?" she asked, fingers skimming over his chest and abdomen as they joined her knee to stroke him more firmly.

He gasped in delight at her touch and said, "You did. I was dreaming that I'd just made love to a beautiful maid with a Scottish accent and temper to match and was sleeping off the effects of too much punch."

"How strange," she smiled, rolling now so that she was on top of him with a knee on either side of his hips. "I dreamed that a rogue of a valet had just finished teaching me to think of him properly."

"Ahhh," he said, gasping again when she bent her head to flick her tongue across his nipple, "And how did you think of that rogue of a valet properly?"

Her head lifted to look at him with a hint of a puzzled frown between her eyes. She sat up straight and lifted her hand to her breast. "When I thought of him, I could barely contain my feelings. I would touch myself."

"Here?" he asked, reaching up to brush her hand away from her breast so that he could continue with his caresses.

She nodded and bit her lip, grinding her hips against his, "And…"

"And here?" he asked shifting the hand that had been holding her hip forward to brush his thumb across her center.

She nodded again, head thrown back now and lips parted slightly.

"Do you suppose he thought of you in the same way?" he asked and watched while she looked down at him once again with a hint of puzzlement.

She flicked the tips of her fingers over his nipples, "You mean he would touch himself here?"

"Mmmm, not usually," he groaned, "But I don't think he would mind you…"

His voice trailed off as she reached between them to grasp him firmly in her hand. When she traced the tip with the pad of her thumb, smoothing the skin back, he sat up straight in bed and was ready to flip her over. She stopped him by guiding him to her center however, and began to rise and fall over him. He fell back on the bed in ecstasy and decided to let her take the lead she obviously wanted. He loved the way her hair brushed his chest while she made love to him but hated not being able to watch her expressions change. Lifting his hand to her face, he brushed her hair behind her ear, and watched her studied concentration, eyes closed and bottom lip caught between her teeth. After a few moments, her movements grew more forceful, and her teeth released her bottom lip to let a small moan escape. Her lips remained parted to take deep breaths as she sped her movements to seek her release. He watched in fascination as waves of pleasure washed over her face. When she tightened around him and her movements slowed, he grasped her hips, thumbs digging in to her skin, and began to thrust upward to seek his own pleasure. He found it and his senses were completely overwhelmed by her; her scent, the faintly salty taste of her skin, the sound of her still gasping breaths, the sight of her satisfied smile, and the feel of her pressed against him.

When he sank back against the pillows in exhaustion, he drew her with him. As she lay stretched over his chest, she laughed against his neck and said, "Will we wake like that every morning?"

"I certainly hope so," he laughed, "Although I might never want to leave the bed."

"We'll have to leave at some point because I'm starving," she slipped off his chest to lie at his side lifted up on her elbow.

He caught the hand that was playing with the hair in the middle of his chest and ran his thumb over the ring on her fourth finger. "What would my dear wife like to eat?"

"Food"

He snorted, "Could you be a bit more specific?"

"Good food"

"Get dressed cheeky woman," he growled, giving her bottom a firm squeeze, "And I'll try to meet your requirements."

"Married for all of one day and already ordering me about," she teased before leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth and whisper solemnly, "You already meet my every requirement."

_**~C~C~E~**_

Elsie watched the muscles of her Charles's, her husband's, back shift under his shirt as he concentrated on the mirror while he knotted his tie. She enjoyed watching him dress and this part most of all. When he had finished, he met her eyes in the mirror and smiled, "If you don't finish dressing, we'll never be able to get you fed and back in the bed."

"I thought you could perhaps do up my buttons. They are difficult to reach."

He grunted and moved behind her, "I don't know that I should. I enjoy watching you reach back." When she gave him a questioning look in the mirror, he explained, "Certain parts of you push forward quite nicely." Finishing with the last button, he leaned forward to nip her neck lightly and she pressed her bottom back against his groin. He groaned and wrapped his arms around her waist in response, pressing his lips tighter against her neck.

After a moment, he held himself back from her to her immense disappointment, "We'll never eat if you keep that up dear wife."

"Perhaps food is over-rated, dear husband," she said in an attempt to get him to change his mind. It was only a half hearted attempt, however, because she was extremely hungry as well.

When they stepped out onto the main thoroughfare, Charles offered his arm, and she reveled in being able to take it so openly. It was wonderful to be able to walk so openly as a wife with her husband here. A faint shadow passed over her as she thought about not being able to do this when they were home. Looking down where his hand rested over hers on her arm, she could make out the faint shadow of his ring under his glove and knew he'd have to take that off each day as well.

She spoke softly as she looked down at their hands, "Perhaps while we are out we should look for a chain so that I can wear our rings about my neck."

He stopped suddenly but still didn't speak so she looked up to see him staring across the street with clenched jaw. She followed his gaze and knew instantly what had caught his attention. He'd been trying for the past six months to find this man and there his name was in bold gilt lettering on a sign hanging over a door across the street. Distracted, he nearly took a step out into the street without even looking to see whether anyone was coming. Thankfully, she had enough warning to be able to grasp his arm firmly and tug him back and into a small alley. He looked down at her with the deepest frown she'd ever seen furrowing his brow.

"Do you see that?" he nearly growled at her, temper obviously riled.

"I do," she said, "but it's a common enough name. It might be nothing."

His face relaxed a little, and he agreed, "You're right, but it's an odd coincidence isn't it? He wanted to run an inn and here's one with his name on it."

"It might be him," she nodded reluctantly, "but do you want to do this now? On our honeymoon? The only one we'll ever have."

He hesitated, looking down at her for a moment before looking back across the street and chewing his bottom lip, "We might never get a better chance. Elsie, I need to talk to him."

"Talk?" she asked, "Is that all it would be? I have no desire for my husband to spend our honeymoon in jail for thrashing a local businessman."

A smile tugged his lips upward momentarily, "Believe me. Your husband would much rather spend our honeymoon in bed with you instead of with bedbugs, or worse, at the local jail. I give you my word I'll only talk. I just want to know why."

She studied his face carefully, not to see if he was sincere. Charles never said things lightly. If he said it, he meant it. She needed time to think. What good would it do to confront the man? The answer, she knew, was that it would hopefully put Charles's mind at rest over this issue. Nodding, she took Charles's arm again, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. They crossed the street this time at a more sedate pace and paused in front of "Stevens' Seaside Resort".

Charles took a deep breath, and she watched as his face set in a grim mask. He held the door for her, and she started on what she hoped would be the last journey on this part of their path.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	16. An end and a beginning

_**Finally finished. I apologize for the delay. Many excuses, but none of them good. My pet peeve is unfinished fics so I've been stressing over this for weeks.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not owned by me, earn nothing from them but pleasure.**_

Elsie blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside the inn. She glanced around appraisingly. The inn wasn't entirely dirty, but it was certainly dingy. She would never have allowed the windows to look like that. The combination of the closeness of the foyer with her anxiety over what Charles might do had her heart racing. Instinct made her stay slightly ahead of Charles. She felt no need to protect him from anyone but himself, but she would protect him. Glancing toward the desk which had a thin layer of dust, she saw that there was a heavy set blond with hair turning to grey and a frowning face watching them curiously. Something seemed familiar about her. Elsie narrowed her eyes at her when she realized who she was.

"Madge?" she asked the blond figure behind the desk, stepping closer.

"How do you know my name?" the woman asked suspiciously.

Elsie stepped closer, more sure of herself now that she had heard the other woman's voice. "I worked with you many years ago, at Holbrook House." When it was plain that Madge still didn't recognize her, she added helpfully, "I'm Bess. I was head housemaid."

"Oh," recognition dawned, "Bess Hughes. It's been a long time."

"Not Hughes," Elsie said quietly, glancing up at Charles, "Carson now."

Madge's eyes turned to Charles, and Elsie found herself shifting even more in front of him at the way those eyes widened and studied him appraisingly. "You look familiar too."

Charles nodded, and Elsie smiled when she felt him step subtly behind her. He must have noticed that predatory gleam as well. "I did visit Holbrook House once upon a time with my employer."

Madge's eyes lit up, "That valet that Bess was sweet on!" Then she turned back to Elsie. "So that's where you went when you left us. We all wondered, you know, but Mr. Stevens never believed it."

Elsie was sure that she heard a low growl from just behind her and opened her mouth to correct Madge, but Charles stepped forward before she could speak, "Mr. Stevens? Now that is just who we were wondering about when we saw the sign. We knew he always wanted to run an inn. Didn't we dear?" He looked at Elsie for confirmation. Elsie nodded, hoping that her back was turned enough so that Madge couldn't see the roll of her eyes.

"Yes, dear," she said and turned back to Madge with a hopeful smile.

Madge's eyes narrowed a little, "And if it is?"

"Well," Charles said carefully with a roll of his shoulders, "we were hoping to speak to him for a moment. Go over old times."

Elsie smiled inwardly but managed not to roll her eyes this time. Charles's main defense from his utter inability to lie was to sidestep the truth. There was nothing strictly untrue about what he said, but he certainly didn't just want to reminisce over old times.

"My husband doesn't usually see anyone," Madge hesitated.

Husband? That was a surprise. She supposed he'd decided one maid would do just as well as another. Elsie watched Madge quietly for a moment before glancing up at Charles's determined face. She knew what she needed to do.

"Surely he'd see me, Mrs. Stevens. I did work there for many years."

Madge remained unyielding but glanced at the door behind her. Just then, they heard an indistinct but decidedly human voice raised in impatience and anger. Madge turned toward the door, and Charles seized the opportunity to push past her.

"That didn't sound good. Let's just see what we can do, shall we?"

Before Madge could stop him, he had stepped around the desk and was pushing the door open. Elsie hurried to stay behind him. There was no way she was going to let him get more than an arm's length away from her. There was no telling what he would do. Charles stopped short just inside the threshold, and in her hurry she nearly fell when she ran into his back.

_**~C~C~E~**_

Charles didn't like this inn. It reminded him too much of ones that he'd stayed in while he worked the halls. It was rough around the edges and not entirely clean, and as he stepped through the door into the back room, he thought he might have an idea why. There was a distinct odor in the room and as he stepped further in, he could tell where that odor originated. Elsie was annoyingly on his heels, no doubt sure that he'd throttle the man if given the chance. He turned to catch her in his arms and tried to push her out of the room. He didn't want her to see this sight. Unfortunately, Madge was crowding the doorway, and Elsie stubbornly twisted her head around his shoulder.

There was a moment of him shifting to the side to attempt to block her view before he grimaced and relented, letting her see the sight which had greeted him. An unwashed man with shaggy hair and bits of what looked like food on his unshaved chin and waistcoat was sitting in the darkened room.

Elsie glared at Madge who sullenly defended herself, "You don't know what he's like. He's angry, bitter, fights me with everything that I do. I've my hands full. I do. And the inn besides."

Charles looked at the man over his shoulder, "This is Stevens?"

The man in the chair snapped in a voice that was far stronger than it should be, "That's Mr. Stevens to you. I'll have the respect due me."

Charles turned to look at him sharply, "Very well. _Mr. _Stevens, sir. Do you know who I am?"

"Of course I do. You're the new footman. As if I didn't have enough to do without training some young hobbledehoy. "

Charles ground his teeth to hold in his temper, and looked down at Elsie who by now was holding hard to the crook of his elbow.

He sighed, "Yes, sir. If I may just get settled, I'll be right back to work."

"You're dismissed," the old butler gave him a stiff nod and then focused on Elsie. "Bess, you show him to his room, and then get a spot of tea in him. Wouldn't do for him to catch his death."

Elsie looked at him sharply, and Charles wondered just how much the old man might remember. Charles took a step toward him and narrowed his eyes, "You know this woman?"

"Of course I do," the man sneered at him, "She's our head housemaid. A good girl. Needs protecting, but a good girl. Not that someone like you should take any interest in her."

Charles started to take a step forward, but Elsie pushed around him and asked, "Protecting?"

"Some men would take advantage."

Elsie's voice became dangerously quiet and cold, "What type of men?"

At the tone of Elsie's voice, Charles's eyes shifted from the disheveled man before him to take in the tight line of Elsie's shoulders. Stevens shifted in his chair and said, "I'll not be disrespected. Where's my tea?" Then he began to cough violently.

Elsie took another step toward him, but Charles caught her arm in alarm. Madge pushed past them and knelt by his chair.

Charles watched for a moment before responding to Elsie's tug on his arm. She was right of course. There would be no more confronting this man.

Elsie pulled him out into the foyer of the inn, but he paused. Should they just leave him like that? When he turned back toward the room, Elsie grasped his arm tighter. He patted her hand gently and smiled down into her worried face, "Don't worry love. I'll not do anything rash. It's just that, well, that could easily have been Mr. Jerkyns or even me I suppose. "

Her eyes turned a stormy grey and her mouth set in a tight line, "No, Charles, that would never be you or Mr. Jerkyns. Don't ever compare yourself to that man."

"Elsie, love, no one deserves…," Charles began.

She cut him off with eyes that were threatening tears now, "That man cost us our family, our son at least, and so many sleepless nights that I'll never be able to count them. As far as I'm concerned, he's gotten no better than he deserved." Her voice broke on the last words, and her shoulders began to shake.

Charles was stunned into silence for a moment by her vehemence. She was the one who had been urging compassion for all these months while he'd been unable to let his anger go. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the closed door to the room and ushered her out of the inn with a hand on her elbow. In a moment, they were in a small alley beside the inn, and he was pulling her into his arms, soothing her with soft words.

As her tears began to subside and her trembling stopped, he leaned back to look into her eyes. "You're right. He got no better than he deserved. All he cared about was what others could do for him. Mr. Jerkyns only ever cared about what he could do for others. They each chose their own path."

"And so do we."

"We do," he answered her seriously; "I understand now why you wanted me to let it go all this time."

She shook her head, "I knew. I knew that if I ever saw him I would…"

"Not as long as I'm there," he teased her gently, "I have no wish for my wife to spend our honeymoon in jail."

"Charles…," she began.

Straightening to his full height, he said, "Forgive him. If we don't we'll never be able to move on."

"Wise man," she said, cupping his cheek in her hand, "Seems like I remember someone else saying something like that."

He smiled and turned his head to kiss her palm, "And only five months later I agree with you. Let's hope all our arguments are this brief."

She laughed softly and shook her head, "Only if you'll feed me."

"Gladly," he offered her his arm and they started on the path that would lead to the rest of their lives.

**The End**

_**Reviews are always welcome.**_


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